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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30116511">Overthinking You (Overthinking Me)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrymilano/pseuds/strawberrymilano'>strawberrymilano</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A Self-Indulgent Romp that Accidentally Got Serious, Alternate Universe - Office, Descriptions of Past Unhealthy Professional Relationships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, M/M, Office, One Shot, POV Shane Madej, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prank Wars, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Protective Shane Madej, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Shane Madej, Romantic Comedy, Ryan Bergara Loves Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara has Anxiety, Ryan Bergara is to be Protected At All Costs, Shane Madej Is So Whipped, Shane Madej Loves Ryan Bergara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:13:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30116511</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrymilano/pseuds/strawberrymilano</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the day he started working at this consulting firm, Shane has known without a doubt that Ryan Bergara hates him with a passion, since he can literally read minds. </p><p>The challenge is just too good for a delighted Shane to ignore. </p><p>Or, an office prank war AU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>190</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Overthinking You (Overthinking Me)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22761163">wanna be every button you press</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakspots/pseuds/weakspots">weakspots</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The simple idea that Shane is a mindreader that can tell Ryan hates him... somehow grew into this. The absolute longest one-shot I've ever written. </p><p>Shoutout to the server, which helped me come up with all sorts of ideas for pranks; the wonderful <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/popkin16/pseuds/popkin16">popkin16</a>, who literally held my hand through the roughest parts of this fic and helped me get it done; the business guru <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhalia/pseuds/Zhalia">Zhalia</a>, who saved my life by helping me brainstorm all the actual business stuff; and finally, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoultown/pseuds/ghoultown">ghoultown</a>, who was kind enough to read my first bare bones outline and tell me there was something there worth pursuing. Thank you, to all of you. This fic would probably not exist today without all of you helping me - I would've burned out for sure. </p><p>(Sidenote: not that it matters but I did actual calculus for this fic. The numbers and percentages mentioned in the throwaway business talk are absolutely accurate, according to the actual honest-to-god formula I devised specifically for this story. Why, you ask? I ask myself that every day. I don't even like math.) </p><p>Specific trigger warnings in the end notes!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shane hums a jaunty little tune to himself, holding a salt jar in one hand and a steaming coffee thermos in the other as he strolls across the empty morning office. As soon as he plops down into his chair, he tucks the salt away into his bag, then clicks on his mouse to wake up his dual screens. </p><p>Ryan Bergara should be in any moment now. He’s usually the second person to arrive in the mornings, about ten minutes after Shane, and today Shane is counting on it. </p><p>Shane sips at his black coffee and tries to focus on the Excel spreadsheet in front of him, smirking. </p><p>See, when he’d first started working here, Shane had come into the office with loads of homemade baked goods to ingratiate himself to everyone. And it had mostly worked. Thoughts had popped up from almost everyone about how nice he seemed, and how good the cookies were. </p><p>Then, the most handsome man Shane had ever seen had walked into the bullpen, with a messenger bag slung over his toned body and a look of exhaustion on his face. He had looked up, seen a smiling Shane and his tray of baked goods, and thought disgustedly, <em> Oh, great, so one asshole is getting replaced by another. Where does HR even find these guys, seriously. </em> </p><p>Shane had blinked, and his pasted-on megawatt office smile slid into something a little more keen for a moment before it returned in full force. </p><p>“Hi there, I’m Shane Madej. Just started today.” </p><p><em> Yeah, obviously, </em> the man had thought. “Ryan Bergara.” </p><p>Shane had held out his tray. “Want a cookie? They’re gluten free.” </p><p><em> Ugh, of course they are, </em> Ryan Bergara had thought with clear disdain. “No thanks,” he’d said coolly. “I’m... trying to cut back.” </p><p><em> That couldn’t be less true, I stuffed myself with so many Cheetos last night it was ridiculous, </em> Bergara had thought to himself. <em> But fuck this guy’s Trojan Horse cookies. I know better. </em> And then he’d stalked off, like Shane had somehow offended him just by asking. </p><p>Shane had watched him go, first gobsmacked, then intensely curious, and finally lighting up with an unholy impish glee. </p><p>He’d never had someone instantly despise him before. And so vigorously! </p><p>Shane had thought that it might turn out to be fun. He’d never had a hated rival in his life. </p><p>And now, months later, Shane is still a little bit obsessed with pushing his rival’s buttons. Something about the way Ryan Bergara seethes over him on the inside is just really satisfying, and Shane can’t get enough of it. </p><p>He keeps an ear trained on the elevators as he disinterestedly scans over the numbers on his screen. It’s almost 6:58, and Bergara is due three minutes ago already. </p><p>Shane sighs, clicking aimlessly on a cell to double-check a formula again. </p><p>Then, the elevator dings. </p><p>Shane listens closer, and hears a faint, echoing voice say, <em> Ugh, must’ve slept on my neck wrong last night. Maybe I should get one of those memory foam pillows. I’m fucking exhausted. </em> </p><p>Shane shoots up in his chair with a wide grin. It’s him. </p><p>The elevator doors slide open, and Shane carefully rearranges his face into something neutral while starting to type away, like he’s been diligently working on entering data this whole time. </p><p><em> Ugh, it’s Madej, </em> Bergara thinks as he steps out into the bullpen, heading in a beeline for the breakroom. <em> Why’s he always here so damn early? I need coffee to deal with this shithead. </em> </p><p>The second he’s out of sight, Shane’s face breaks out in an evil grin. All according to plan. </p><p>The regular sounds of pouring and a spoon stirring drift out of the breakroom and into the office. Shane schools his face before he can get caught grinning, adrenaline pounding through him. He carefully adjusts the tiny convex mirror on the edge of his desk so he can see behind and to the side, over where Bergara’s desk is, before he goes back to typing. </p><p>Bergara wanders back into the bullpen with a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, slinging his bag down on his desk and slipping into his chair with a quiet sigh. He cradles his ceramic mug and blows away some of the rising steam as he starts scribbling something down on one of his yellow legal pads. </p><p><em> Maybe mornings aren’t so bad, </em> Bergara thinks, closing his eyes for a moment as he lifts up his cup to his lips. <em> Mm. Warm. </em> </p><p>Then Bergara takes a big sip of his coffee, and all his thoughts screech to a dead halt. Then. <em> What the FUCK. </em> </p><p>Shane keeps his demonic-level glee firmly shut inside, his face totally neutral as he keeps typing on his computer, eyes now firmly on the screen. </p><p>He sees Bergara out of the corner of his eye as his head whips around to glare at him. </p><p><em> This </em> motherfucker <em> - he did this! He - I know he did! I know he did! On purpose!! He’s always pulling some bullshit like this!  This absolute motherfucker - coffee is </em> sacred, <em> okay? I can’t fucking </em> believe <em> he - </em> </p><p>The seething is fantastic, and Shane can’t help but relish in the pure unbridled indignation and rage as he keeps on typing serenely. </p><p>When Bergara takes a calming breath, and his thoughts start to simmer down a little bit, Shane turns as if he just noticed Bergara was there and meets his eyes, as if he were surprised to see him. </p><p>Shane smiles blandly, just one of those casual across-the-office smiles, and does a little wave. Then he turns back to his computer. </p><p>The rage-thoughts EXPLODE again. </p><p>
  <em> Ooh this smug motherfucker, this absolute evil piece of hipster shit, he is winding me up on purpose, I know he is, he knows I don’t have any proof and now he’s just rubbing it in, this mother - fucking - god - damn - FUCK! </em>
</p><p>There’s the sound of a snap. </p><p><em> Oh shit, my pencil, </em> Bergara thinks forlornly.  </p><p>Shane’s hand shoots up to cover his mouth. He’s grinning like a madman, and can’t seem to stop. </p><p>Then Bergara goes off with a sigh to change out the contaminated sugar bowl in the breakroom, angrily muttering in his head about Shane making him go back in there the whole time, and Shane settles in to do his work. But, like, actually, this time. Instead of just typing nonsense into a random cell on his spreadsheet. </p><p>-</p><p>Of course, as expected, Bergara tries to get him back about a week later. </p><p>Shane is in the bathroom washing his hands when he hears Bergara’s triumphant, <em> Ha! This’ll get him, </em> from the bullpen. Wow, he’s only been gone, what? Two minutes? And Bergara’s already got his prank set up. Impressive. He must’ve prepared it in advance and practiced it at home. </p><p>Shane walks out of the bathroom fighting down a smirk. Skating right up to the edge of Bergara’s pranks is a thrill like no other. It’s a total emotional rollercoaster for the little guy to watch him do it, too. If Shane could eat popcorn while listening to him react, he would. It’s that entertaining. </p><p><em> Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down, </em> Bergara chants in his head as Shane nears his desk. </p><p>He bites the inside of his cheek, just to stop himself from smiling. </p><p>Shane sits down, but carefully doesn’t roll his chair forward and under the desk like he usually would. Instead, he props up his ankle on his knee as he scrolls on his phone, leaving a good six inches of space between his chair and the desk’s edge. </p><p><em> Move. Forward. </em> Ryan thinks so hard Shane might be worried about him popping a vein. <em> You do it every day, you bastard. So do it now. Roll your goddamn chair. FORWARD. </em> </p><p>Instead, Shane scoots back a bit, and spins his chair ninety degrees to the side. </p><p><em> FUCK! Wrong way! </em> </p><p>“Hey, Bergara,” he says, looking over. </p><p>Bergara starts at the sudden eye contact. <em> Shit. He caught me staring. I hope he doesn’t realize something’s up. </em> “What?” </p><p>“D’you have a phone charger? My battery’s pretty low, and I forgot mine at home.” He’s totally lying, he’s got his charger in his bag. But whatever. The show must go on. </p><p><em> Fuck, this had to happen today of all days, </em> Bergara complains internally. <em> Couldn’t he have done this, like, yesterday instead? C’mon. </em> But he sighs, and turns to grab his charging cable. “Yeah, here.” </p><p>“Thanks, man.” </p><p>Shane moves to stand, but Bergara’s eyes nearly pop out of his head as he leaps out of his chair, saying quickly, “No! Don’t get up. It’s fine.” </p><p><em> Seriously, don’t. Don’t get up. Stay in the goddamn chair. </em> </p><p>Shane shakes his head with his pasted-on megawatt smile, and stands up, walking forward a few paces. “Hey, you’re doing <em> me </em> the favor, here. Least I can do is pick up the cable.” </p><p>They stand there, facing each other in the stupidest of standoffs. Then Shane holds out his hand, and Bergara grudgingly hands over his cable. “Here.” </p><p>“Thanks. Really. You’re a lifesaver.” </p><p>“Don’t mention it.” Bergara sits back down again, turning away. <em> Really, don’t. Just hurry up and sit down, asshole. </em> “Just give it back when you’re done.” </p><p>“Sure thing,” Shane says cheerfully. He goes back to his cubicle, plugging the cable into the USB port in the back of his main monitor. </p><p>Then, Shane perches on the edge of his desk and pretends to scroll on his charging phone, even through he’s <em> really </em> using the camera function to watch Bergara silently bug out. </p><p><em> What the fuck, is he psychic or something? The edge of his desk? Really? He’s never done this any other day but today! It’s either he knows, or his luck is just that good. Fuck, or my luck is just that shitty. </em> Bergara glances over at him, then back at his workstation. <em> Yeah, definitely just my shitty luck. Why do the worst coworkers always flock to me? </em> </p><p>Bergara rubs his mouth distractedly, and goes quiet for a moment. Then he shakes his head like he’s shaking an unpleasant memory away. </p><p><em> Whatever. So I’ve got to wait. He’s going to sit back down eventually. It’s not like it’s going anywhere; I can be patient. </em> </p><p>Shane watches Bergara badly try to conceal a smug grin through his camera app. And Shane has to bite the inside of his cheek again, because <em> god, </em> this is hilarious, and he can’t afford to break character. </p><p>Okay. Looks like it’s about time for the grand finale. </p><p>Shane tosses his still-charging phone onto his desk and rises up off of his desk with a stretch, making sure Bergara catches it by adding a theatrical yawn. </p><p>He starts towards his chair, and at the motion, Bergara’s head whips around to watch. </p><p><em> Ooh, he’s gonna do it, it’s happening! </em> Bergara thinks gleefully. <em> This is not a drill! </em> </p><p>Then, Shane distractedly checks his watch as he ambles forward, and the tip of his polished shoe bumps into one of the wheels of his chair, rolling it under the desk. </p><p>Just enough to set off Bergara’s well-laid trap. </p><p>It all happens in a moment - the seat of the chair forces the fishing line taut where its taped to the floor, yanking the edge of the suspended plastic cup down and spilling all its water straight into the leather seat. </p><p>If Shane had been sitting in it, the water would have splashed him directly in the groin, soaking the front of his pants. </p><p>“Oh,” Shane says, blinking down at the mess like he wasn’t expecting it, before glancing up at Bergara with a sunny smile. “...Whoops.” </p><p><em> Gah! SO CLOSE! </em> Bergara screams internally, so frustrated he’s probably close to ripping his hair out as he fumes at his desk, glaring at his screen as Shane passes by. <em> Fuck, this motherfucker really just has the best fucking luck. Next time, I’ve got to seriously plan things out so this can’t happen again! Hmm, maybe if I try the one with the fake spider... </em> </p><p>Shane grins as he grabs some paper towels off the roll in the breakroom, listening in on the new plot he’s inevitably going to foil. </p><p>Honestly? </p><p>In practice, this whole bitter rivalry thing is turning out to be even more fun than he’d thought it’d be. </p><p>-</p><p>One lazy Friday afternoon, after a great week of Shane pulling off one prank after another and mercilessly shutting down all of Bergara’s, all to the total unawareness of the rest of the bullpen, Shane is shooting the shit at the watercooler with a few of the others, easily navigating the group while he sips at his paper cup. He looks out of the large hallway windows down into the common courtyard, watching the tree leaves sway in the wind as he vaguely listens to the conversation swirling around him. </p><p>“The office has been pretty chill lately,” Jordan is saying. <em> Ever since that embezzling fuck Garth got fired, </em> he thinks. <em> Man, that dude was a jackass. </em> </p><p>“It’s so nice when everybody gets along,” Ying agrees, beaming. <em> I’m so glad Ryan is doing better now. It was so hard on him. </em> </p><p>Shane blinks, looking over at Ying. </p><p>He’s known almost the second he started working here that the guy he was replacing had been a monumental criminal asshole, siphoning millions before getting caught, but he hadn’t known that it’d had something to do with Bergara. </p><p>Shane opens his mouth to ask, when all of a sudden, Ying perks up and beckons someone over. Shane turns to look. </p><p>It’s Bergara. </p><p>He’s clearly reticent about coming over because his secret mortal enemy Shane is here, but he’s too polite and likes the others too much to refuse when Jordan calls out, “Dude, hey! Come chill with us,” and Ying follows up with, “Ryan, sweetie! Come drink some water. We’d love to have you.” </p><p>Bergara’s face softens at Jordan and Ying, but then he glances over at Shane and he stiffens up again. </p><p>“Yeah, Bergara,” Shane says casually, tipping his head to the side as he looks Ryan up and down. “Lookin’ a little dehydrated over there. You could probably use a sweet, sweet cup of H2O.” </p><p>Predictably, it sends Bergara into a rage spiral. </p><p><em> This asshole </em> dares <em> to call me dehydrated when I know for a goddamn </em> fact <em> that he was the one who put that yellow food dye in my water bottle. And glued my stapler to that folder full of paperwork. And unscrewed one of the wheels of my desk chair so it would fall off! And unplugged my computer monitor so I’d think it was broken! And that’s all just this week!!! GOD! If Ying weren’t the sweetest person alive, I’d fucking - okay. I’m cool. It’s fine. I can be cool. </em> He pastes on a smile. <em> Just ignore him. It’s like he’s not there. Focus on the others. You can do this. </em> </p><p>“...Sure.” </p><p>Bergara reluctantly walks up and takes the cup of water Ying holds out for him. “Thanks, Ying.” <em> God, she’s so sweet. She could be my little sister, if she wanted. </em> “You guys got any weekend plans?” </p><p>“Book club and yoga class,” Ying says serenely, like she’s already transported herself there in her mind. “Maybe I’ll even get one of those fancy lattes with foam art on top.” </p><p>“Sweet.” </p><p>“I’m gonna have poker night with the buddies,” Jordan offers. “Play some cards, drink some beer.” </p><p>“Sounds like fun,” Bergara says. <em> Wish I had some buddies to hang out with this weekend, </em> he thinks a little forlornly. </p><p>Shane jumps on that. As a hated rival, he’s got a job to do. </p><p>“What about you, Bergara? Got any plans? Hot date, maybe?” he prods. </p><p>Bergara’s face twitches. “No,” he says shortly. <em> Just me, myself, and thirty hours of sleep. </em> “Gonna take it easy, relax a little bit.” </p><p>“Nice.” Shane smiles his megawatt smile, inordinately pleased for some reason. “Having a solitary little sabbatical, I like your style.” </p><p>“...Thanks,” Bergara says almost suspiciously, before throwing back the remainder of his water in one big gulp and crumpling the paper cup in his hand. <em> Yeah, that’s it, I can’t take another second of this stupid fucking bastard with his stupid fucking glasses and his stupid fucking shirt. </em> “Anyway. I’m gonna head back.” </p><p>“Seeya, Ryan,” Jordan and Ying chime out. </p><p>Shane claps a hand on Bergara’s shoulder as he moves to go by, squeezing a little before letting go. Damn, he’s got shoulders, though. “Later, Bergara. Enjoy that hermit life.” </p><p>Bergara’s inner scream as he quickly darts off makes Shane actually chuckle out loud. </p><p>“What a great guy,” Shane says to his officemates, a little loudly so Bergara can hear him as he goes. “Isn’t he?” </p><p>They both agree, with gusto. </p><p><em> I hate him so much, </em> Bergara thinks miserably, before he crosses out of range. </p><p>-</p><p>Shane mulls over his options of what exactly he’s going to do next as he walks down the sidewalk outside the office, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets on his way back from his lunch break. It’s been a few days since Shane’s pulled anything, so Bergara’s probably gotten complacent. The perfect time to strike. </p><p>But he doesn’t have to think long, because on walking back into the bullpen, Shane is blessed with a gift from the prank gods. </p><p>Today, Bergara has fallen asleep at his desk. </p><p>In a totally empty office, no less. </p><p>Seeing his chance, Shane dashes off to his own desk, where he keeps a secret stash of prank supplies in a little lockbox. He rummages through it, and finally pulls out a black eyebrow pencil. He grins. </p><p>Shane stealthily maneuvers himself over Bergara’s face, barely touching him with the pencil as he works. </p><p><em> You’re an asshole, </em> Bergara suddenly thinks. </p><p>Shane freezes. </p><p>But Bergara… is still asleep. His eyes twitch minutely behind his eyelids, his breathing still soft and even. </p><p><em> Stop it, Garth, </em> Bergara thinks in his sleep. <em> I said no. I won’t do it. </em> </p><p>Shane’s brow creases. By rights, Bergara should be having work-related hate-filled dreams about <em> Shane, </em> who’s essentially making his work life a living prank hell. But Bergara’s still having dreams about a jackass criminal ex-coworker that he hasn’t seen in months? Weird. </p><p>Also, most of the time Shane can’t even pick up on dream thoughts, because they’re usually so unfocused and emotion-based. This… is not that. So, double weird. </p><p>Maybe Shane is hearing the echo of a memory. </p><p><em> Fuck that, </em> Bergara continues. <em> I don’t fucking care about that. If they fire me, they fire me. </em> </p><p>Shane suddenly remembers what Ying had thought last week at the watercooler, that <em> it was so hard on him. </em> And, <em> I’m so glad Ryan’s doing better now. </em> He stares down at Bergara, transfixed. As he watches, a frown forms on those perfect lips. </p><p>He waits for more, but that seems to be it from Bergara. </p><p>In any case, Shane’s got to finish this masterpiece before his canvas cracks open those big brown Bambi eyes. Shane holds his breath, and slowly starts working the pencil across Bergara’s face again with feather-light strokes. </p><p>Soon, Bergara is sporting a curly handlebar moustache. Shane slips away, resisting the urge to cackle maniacally, and he carefully sets the eyebrow pencil back into the lockbox so nobody can catch him redhanded with the murder weapon. </p><p>It takes Jordan snorting up coffee through his nose for Bergara to even realize something’s off, a full half hour after he’s woken up with a clumsy start. </p><p>“Ryan, you got a,” Jordan wheezes out, pointing at his own upper lip. </p><p>Shane chuckles under his breath as Bergara runs to the bathroom to look in the mirror, thinking frantically, <em> Oh, god, I should never have fallen asleep here, Jesus, what was I thinking, this is a </em> war zone, <em> what’s wrong with my </em>face - </p><p>There’s a pause, and then a thunderous, </p><p><em> MOUSTACHE!! </em> </p><p>Shane grins toothily. Ah, the sweet, sweet sound of pure unadulterated fury. </p><p>-</p><p>Bergara tries his next shot at payback after a full week and a half of enraged brainstorming. All the technicalities are laid out, over and over again, to the point where Shane himself has them memorized. </p><p>Shane will say this, Bergara is a lot of things, but lazy sure as hell isn’t one of them. </p><p><em> Okay, I’ve got another two minutes before his meeting’s over, I’ve got to hurry this up, </em> Bergara thinks as he clicks frantically at Shane’s computer. </p><p>Shane crosses his arms and leans in, right behind Bergara, avidly watching the screen along with him. </p><p>“Huh, this looks fascinating,” Shane says casually. </p><p>Bergara <em> shrieks, </em> instinctively lashing out with an open hand that Shane only narrowly avoids. </p><p>“Whoa, there, Nellie,” Shane says with a phony cowboy affect. “Almost took my head clear off, there.”  </p><p><em> “Jesus, </em> Madej!” Bergara gasps shakily. “You - ” <em> You goddamn ninja! You scared the SHIT out of me, feels like the time Garth nearly - and fuck you, you’re supposed to still be in a meeting! </em> “Uh, I… I was just... checking. On something. On your computer.” </p><p>Shane raises his eyebrows with the tiniest smirk. “I can see that. And what was it, exactly, that you were checking?” </p><p>“Uhh, yeah, turns out, there’s… a terrible computer virus. That’s been going around. I… got it the other day, so. I’ve been checking to make sure nobody in the office caught it.” </p><p>Shane arranges his face into something vaguely interested, with a side of slight surprise. “Wow, that’s nice of you. Did I catch it?” </p><p>Bergara chews his lip. <em> Fuck. I’m screwed. </em> “Uh, um... Yeah. You did. Un...fortunately. But!” He bends down and starts clicking away again, closing out of an open file and dragging it directly into the trash before permanently clearing it. “You should be all good now. No… virus.” </p><p>“You’re practically a tech wizard, Bergara,” Shane says, like he’s touched by the attention and effort at keeping his little old computer safe from the big bad virus. “Is there anything you can’t do?” </p><p>“Yeah, plenty.” <em> Pull off a prank against your tall bony ass, for one, </em> Bergara thinks grumpily. </p><p>Then he heads back to his own desk in a huff, mentally cursing Shane’s untimely arrival the whole way. As he goes, Shane’s shoulders shake with the effort of keeping his laughter totally silent. </p><p>He doesn’t think he’s ever had this much fun before. </p><p>-</p><p>Then the monthly review comes up, where their boss Janelle surfaces from her corner office to go over numbers and hand out new accounts. </p><p>The whole bullpen is corralled into a boardroom, complete with laptops and a projector, and Janelle starts her presentation full of cumulative data trends and company profit margins. From the brush of thoughts he gets from Janelle, Shane’s sure nothing’s really dramatically changed, so he’s mostly been tuning everything out. The data suggests they should mostly keep doing what they’re doing but maybe tweak a few things, as it always does, and their profits are steady, as they always are. </p><p>Finally, Janelle moves on to assigning accounts. As she goes through them, people speak up with their ideas, and Janelle chooses the best person or team for the job. Every month is a new batch of potential accounts, but honestly, Shane doesn’t care what he gets, so this part of the meeting is usually equally as dull as the data presentation to him. </p><p>Then, Janelle says, “Okay, then, since you have more experience with their systems, Ying, you’ll work on the Herzog account. I’ll assign you right now.” </p><p>There’s a ding, and Ying is assigned. </p><p>“Okay, then. On to the Vern account,” Janelle says briskly. </p><p>Everyone opens the film’s Vern research file to follow along as Janelle sums up the basics. </p><p>“Their filmmaking app launch numbers are struggling. With our help, their goal is 250,000 downloads by the end of the next quarter. The payment contract we have with them is pinned to a results-based algorithm, so the more downloads from our recommendations, the more we make. Unfortunately, if we get less than or equal to 10,000 downloads, there won’t be any extra markup to our hourly base price, but if we do manage to hit their goal at 250,000, we’ll get an added 20%, which is <em> massive, </em> so let’s do our best, here, okay? So. Anyone have any ideas on improving the Vern app?” </p><p>And, all of a sudden, Bergara perks up. <em> Ooh, this is it! I’ve been practicing this. Get it right, Bergara, fuck. Vern is gonna be in the bag, with your name on it. </em> </p><p>Shane tilts his head and tries not to smirk. </p><p>So, his rival Bergara wants the Vern account, huh. </p><p>Would be a shame if he… didn’t get it. </p><p>Quick as wildfire, Bergara runs through his checklist. <em> Okay, so, first, updating the in-app editing program to match competitors. Second, adding a monthly membership option where people can automatically upload their footage to the cloud as they shoot. And third, Boss loves it when I add in something spicy, partnering with Instagram to strengthen their name recognition and expand their audience. Man, if I do this right, there’s no way she’s gonna give this to anyone else. </em> </p><p>Bergara opens his mouth to speak, but Shane beats him to it. </p><p>“Hey, actually, I had a few ideas for this,” Shane says mildly, like they just occurred to him. Everyone at the table turns towards him, and Bergara is now silently sulking.  </p><p><em> Fuck, it’s this guy again. Hurry up, I wanna get my points in. </em> </p><p>“So, first off, their editing software? Not great. Almost all the reviews say that there are much better apps out there. To compete, they’ve got to add some new features and make their interface more user friendly. Second, I think they could really benefit from creating a membership on top of the initial app purchase. They make ten dollars off of each download now, but they could significantly increase their profits if they also had some people paying monthly for a service through the app. Maybe they could include cloud storage for auto-uploaded raw footage, or something like that.” Shane smiles smugly yet blandly at Bergara, who looks suddenly horrified. </p><p><em> Fuck, those are my points. Fuck! Shut up! This fucking asshole, stealing my points! </em> </p><p>“Huh. Go on,” Janelle says, looking thoughtful as she mulls over his proposal. She’s a little surprised he spoke up at all, actually, since he’s usually so quiet at these meetings. From what he can hear, she loves the sudden show of interest. </p><p>So Shane keeps spitballing possibilities for the footage cloud system, which is actually pretty solid. Looks like Bergara came up with a pretty good idea. Shane probably wouldn’t have thought of it for this account on his own. </p><p>Then, to Shane’s surprise, as he continues talking, yammering on about subscriber tier possibilities, the anger in Bergara fades to something… else. </p><p>An encroaching, all-consuming fear. </p><p><em> Am I… am I not gonna get this project? No, I’ve still got the Instagram partnership idea. I - I can still make a case, if I can bring up that point. Janelle will let me work on it with him, probably, if I get the chance to say it. Right? </em> </p><p>As he finishes up his off-the-cuff diatribe on membership options, Shane hesitates. Is it too much to steal the last idea, too? </p><p>Before he can make the choice, though, Janelle gives Shane the project. </p><p>“Nice work, Madej,” she says approvingly. “I’m sure the people over at Vern will love to hear your initiatives. Can’t wait for the results on that from you. I’ll assign it right now.” </p><p>She types it in to her laptop, and ding! The project’s assigned. </p><p>Bergara looks down at his hands in his lap. <em> Shit. Shit, I can’t do anything right. It’s too late. I should’ve spoken up sooner. Fuck. Garth was right, I’m such a fucking loser. Can’t even get the account I’ve been doing weeks of groundwork for. Fuck, what’s wrong with me. </em> </p><p>Shane frowns, looking at him. This was supposed to make Bergara mad at <em> Shane, </em> not at himself. Shane didn’t realize this banal account stuff would matter so much to the guy. </p><p>Shit. He may have gone a little too far this time. </p><p>Shane glances away towards the boss, and smiles at her. </p><p>“Hey Janelle, I want Bergara with me on this,” Shane says casually, ignoring the sudden shocked blast of <em> WHAT THE FUCK </em> coming from Bergara. “It’s a lot of work for one person, and I heard he’s been doing a lot of groundwork on it, so.” </p><p>Janelle nods. “Sure, having a second person on this is probably a good call. You okay with helping Shane out on this, Ryan?” </p><p>The room turns to look at Bergara, whose eyes are glued to Shane before Shane turns towards him. He glances away, too flustered to meet Shane’s eyes. </p><p>“Uhh, um,” he stutters. “Yeah. No problem.” </p><p><em> How’d he - how’d he know I - and fuck, I’m gonna have to work with this fucking - but now at least I’m - I’m - </em> </p><p>“It’s settled, then. I’ll just assign you too.” She types into her laptop, and ding! Assigned. </p><p><em> I… got it. I got the project. </em> The sheer relief in Bergara’s thoughts is a welcome change from the horrified panic from a minute before. <em> Thank fuck. I - this is gonna be - I can really do it. I can show Janelle what I’m made of, that I’m stronger than that. I’m not gonna be a piece of shit failure this time. I won’t let myself. </em> </p><p>“Sure, absolutely,” is all Bergara says. </p><p>Shane looks after him pensively as they all start to file out of the meeting room. </p><p>He… feels bad, for some reason. Like he overheard stuff he shouldn’t have. </p><p>Which is weird for him, since he literally hears, like, every single focused thought that people have around him within a twenty foot radius. </p><p>Maybe it’s a rival thing. </p><p>-</p><p>When Shane finally leaves the monthly review boardroom, after taking his sweet time packing up his laptop and notes and trying to shore up some kind of mental resilience against sudden, useless guilt, he finds Bergara waiting for him out in the hallway. </p><p>“So, Madej,” Bergara starts, fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag before hurriedly shuffling along to keep up with Shane’s long steps as he walks by. </p><p>“Bergara,” Shane says, still looking straight ahead, somehow not in the mood to verbally spar with Bergara for the first time in recorded history. </p><p><em> Fuck, his legs are so goddamn long and spindly, </em> Bergara thinks. <em> Slow down, Big Man! </em> </p><p>“Hey, uh - ” </p><p>Bergara catches Shane by the wrist, bringing him to an abrupt halt. </p><p>Shane starts in surprise, looking down at the tan hand circled just above his wristwatch. It’s calloused and strong, with a long white scar cutting through the crease between the thumb and forefinger. </p><p>“I just - wanted to talk to you for a second.” Bergara licks his lips. “About the… <em> our… </em> account.” </p><p>“You have to hold on to me for that?” Shane asks, still eyeing the hand still on him with what he hopes looks like distaste. </p><p>“Uhh, nope!” Bergara lets go of Shane like he’s on fire, and looks determinedly in a different direction than Shane’s face. “Anyway. Um.” </p><p>Shane raises a quizzical eyebrow. Now that he’s looking at him, Bergara seems twitchier than usual. And he’s not really thinking anything in particular, either, which is making it difficult for Shane to know what the hell is going on. </p><p>“Is it about the big sports game last night?” Shane asks lightly. “Because I didn’t see it, so...” </p><p><em> Fuck, we’re not gonna be able to get anything done if I want to kill him the whole time, </em> Bergara thinks exasperatedly, running a hand over his face. “Look, Madej,” he says firmly. “We’re going to be working together. Right?” </p><p>Shane cocks his head. Where’s Bergara going with this? “Right.” </p><p>“So, we’ve got to start working <em> together. </em> At least until we close Vern. Understand?” </p><p>Shane doesn’t, at all. Until he hears Bergara think, <em> No more nasty pranks. On either side. </em> </p><p>“Oh!” Shane blinks rapidly. Bergara is calling a truce. </p><p>He hadn’t expected this, for some reason. </p><p>He guesses it makes sense, since the two of them are gonna be like peas in a pod for at least the next month or two. Continuing their silent but escalating prank war would seriously get in the way of the work. </p><p>The edges of Shane’s mouth downturn. “...I guess so, yeah.” </p><p>Bergara holds out a hand with a grim look on his face. “Agreed?” </p><p>Shane looks at the proffered hand for a moment, before he reaches out with a sigh and shakes it. </p><p>“Agreed,” he says glumly. </p><p>There goes all the fun of a months-long bitter rivalry, Shane supposes a little wistfully. Crushed by professionalism. </p><p>“Good.” Bergara nods firmly when their hands drop, then starts walking down the long hallway, sunlight from the glass windows catching on the line of his silhouette as he passes from pane to pane. “See you tomorrow, Madej.” </p><p>“Later, Bergara,” Shane says as he watches him go. </p><p>When he’s finally left alone in the hallway, he deflates. It feels like the end of an era. </p><p>-</p><p>The next day, Shane gets in fifteen minutes later than usual. Snuffing out the prank war seems to have also snuffed out a lot of Shane’s enthusiasm for coming to work. </p><p>Which means, Bergara is there before him, for the first time in recorded history. </p><p>“Madej,” he greets, as Shane walks into the bullpen. </p><p>“Bergara,” Shane says, trying to make it sound as normal and upbeat as possible. </p><p>Apparently it doesn’t quite hit the mark, though, because Bergara does a double take at that, thinking, <em> That was weirdly low energy for him, </em> before returning awkwardly looking back to his computer. <em> Whatever. Maybe he just needs coffee to fully realize his chipper morning asshole potential. </em> </p><p>Coffee does sound pretty great right now. Shane heads to the breakroom to reup his supply. He watches the pot slowly fill up, drip by drip, absently fiddling a fingernail over a deep, curved nick in the countertop edge as he waits. </p><p>If he’s being honest with himself, Shane is a little bummed. Because how is he gonna have any fun at work anymore, with pranks taken out of the equation? There’s nothing to look forward to. No surprises. No stakes. It’s all margins this, projections that, work email this, Excel file that. Literally the most boring stuff anyone could possibly imagine, all the time. </p><p>Shane listlessly pours the steaming coffee into his thermos. It’s starting to sound like the job he had before this. Mind-numbingly dull. </p><p>Looks like he’s gotten too used to actually having fun, messing with Bergara all the time. God, he’s gonna miss it. </p><p>At least there’s a vague end date to this ceasefire - whenever they close the Vern account. It could be months away, but still. Shane at least has that small caveat to help tide him over. </p><p>He takes a sip of hot black coffee, sighs, and decides to just power through it. </p><p>Being bored is, like, his default state. He’ll survive. </p><p>-</p><p>Later that day, Shane hears Ryan dithering about coming over long before he actually does. </p><p>He’s finishing up one of last month’s accounts with a final email when Bergara starts thinking up a storm. </p><p><em> Okay, just gonna walk over there and - and tell him my idea. Insta partnership. You can do this. It’s a good idea. Ugh. What if he doesn’t like it? </em> </p><p><em> We’re gonna be working with each other on this for weeks anyway, possibly months. Might as well get this out of the way, rip off the bandaid. Because the Instagram thing is, like, necessary. It would shoot Vern into the fucking stratosphere. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t get it added on to this stupid project. Fuck. </em> </p><p><em> You know what, I’m gonna go tell him right now, and he’s gonna fucking love it. Just you watch, Bergara. Just be cool about it. It’ll go fine. </em> </p><p>“Hey, Madej,” Bergara says over the cubicle wall, like he was just walking by and an idea just happened to pop into his head. “Got a second?” </p><p>Shane presses send before he stretches in his chair, knitting his fingers behind his head as he leans back. “Sure,” he says easily. “What do you got?” </p><p>Bergara’s eyes trail down Shane’s lanky body before snapping back to his face. <em> Tall son of a bitch. </em> “Wanted to talk over the Vern account, if you had time.” </p><p>“Alright, hit me.” </p><p>Bergara hesitates. <em> Say it. Just fucking say it, he’s not Garth. Everything will go fine. </em> He crosses his bulky arms. “Okay. Um.” </p><p>Shane waits, eyebrows raised expectantly, but the tense line of Bergara’s shoulders wilts as he watches. </p><p><em> Fuck, </em> Bergara despairs, averting his eyes as his mouth twists. <em> I just know he’s gonna fucking eviscerate me. </em> </p><p>Shane freezes in place. When has he ever given Bergara that impression? Lightly tease, sure. But tear him apart? Shane wouldn’t do that. But Bergara seems pretty convinced he would. </p><p>A crease forms between Shane’s raised eyebrows. </p><p>“Just wanted to check what your schedule was like. So we can coordinate.” Bergara’s looking studiously somewhere over Shane’s shoulder, and his voice is oddly even. “How are your mornings?” </p><p>Shane carefully shrugs, trying to telegraph his movements slowly, like he’s dealing with a spooked animal. “Pretty clear. Mornings would be good for me.” </p><p>“Cool. Why don’t I send you a calendar invite and we can set some daily meetings in stone?” </p><p>“Sounds good to me.” </p><p>“Excellent, thanks.” That seems to be it, because Bergara turns and swiftly walks away. Shane keeps still as he watches him go. </p><p><em> Next time, I promise, </em> Bergara thinks to himself consolingly as he returns to his desk with a quiet sigh. <em> I swear, I’ll take whatever gutting he’s got waiting for me, and get the partnership idea on the account. Just… not this time. I’m not… I’m not ready. </em> </p><p>Shane frowns after him. That sure was a lot of thoughts about eviscerating and gutting. Yeah, sure, he’s ribbed Bergara on small stuff before, like his sports obsession or the diet he never manages to stick to, but Shane’s never actually gone far enough for anyone to say he’s ever <em> eviscerated </em> the guy. </p><p>Weirdly enough, it almost seems like Bergara is <em> scared </em> of him. Or, at the very least, intimidated. </p><p>Shane… doesn’t particularly like that idea. </p><p>He might be kind of a dick sometimes, but Shane isn’t actually out to bully anyone, here. </p><p>Shane’s frown deepens. He unlocks his fingers from behind his head, letting his hands fall down to his armrests as he swivels his chair back towards his desktop computer, gazing at the email left open on the screen pensively. </p><p>He wonders what it is about him that scares Bergara so much. </p><p>-</p><p>In the office bathroom, Shane grips the edges of the sink as he stares at himself in the mirror. </p><p>He’s always been the guy in the room that people find approachable. The laidback guy. The understanding guy. The goofy guy. Sure, he’s a freakishly tall white dude, but despite that, he’s never been seen as intimidating. </p><p>Shane closely studies his own face. </p><p>Something about him has made Bergara see him as some sort of ruthless, tyrannical alpha male type. What that something is, he has no idea. </p><p>Could it be his overgrown hair? His Saturn patterned tie? His horn rimmed glasses? His bad posture? What about Shane could possibly scream, <em> Beware, will eviscerate you? </em> </p><p>He feels at a loss, staring at his troubled reflection in the mirror. </p><p>Shane’s always been a master at controlling his image and reputation, effortlessly able to mold himself to the most likeable character possible to whatever audience he’s acting towards. He knows exactly how he comes across, and he knows exactly how to use it. Bergara had been the first to hate him, which was a welcome surprise in its novelty. </p><p>Bergara’s now also the first to be scared of him. </p><p>A much less welcome surprise. </p><p>He really doesn’t like the way it feels, to have Bergara walking around assuming he’s a conversation away from ripping him to shreds. Like Shane’s some stalking predator, waiting to strike at any sign of weakness. It’s an entirely different thing from Bergara assuming he’s just a shallow douchebag. </p><p>Shane frowns, watching the ends of his mouth pull down in the mirror. </p><p>He’s got to get this little misconception ironed out. </p><p>-</p><p>So, the next morning, when it’s almost time for their scheduled team meeting, Shane goes up to Bergara’s desk with his briefcase in hand and asks, “Hey. Which room should we take today?” </p><p>“Probably conference room two,” Bergara replies distractedly, while he shoves his laptop and yellow legal pad into his messenger bag. “They’re both open right now, but room one just had a huge online meeting with an international client, so it’s still got microphones and cords set up everywhere.” </p><p>“I do hate dealing with microphones and cords,” Shane agrees with an appreciative nod. “Good call, Bergara.” </p><p>Bergara blinks up at him, clearly thrown. “Um, yeah, sure.” </p><p>“Ready?” Shane asks, checking his watch. </p><p>“...As I’ll ever be.” </p><p>Bergara slings his messenger bag over his shoulder and stands up. <em> Here we go, </em> he thinks darkly. <em> Time to throw myself on the sword, just like I promised. </em> </p><p>Together, they head out the bullpen and down the hall towards the conference rooms. As they pass by the watercooler and the wall of windows, Shane glances over at Bergara. He’s intently looking down into the courtyard outside, the faint morning sunlight streaming in through the windows to dapple his face with a practically angelic glow. Jesus. Sometimes Shane could swear he’s working with a professional model instead of a CMC certified consultant. </p><p>“I heard the Stanton account just closed up,” Shane says casually. </p><p>Bergara’s eyes snap to him, a little suspiciously. </p><p>“Yeah,” Bergara says grudgingly. “Yesterday.” </p><p>“Nice job on that. It sounded like a really complicated one, but you pulled it off. I heard the clients were really happy.” </p><p>“...Thanks,” Bergara says uncertainly, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to fall. <em> What’s his game? </em> he thinks. </p><p>“Glad you’re on my team,” Shane comments, just as they reach the conference rooms. “Here we are.” </p><p>Shane opens the door to conference room two and steps in. </p><p><em> He’s… glad I’m on his team, </em> Bergara repeats in his head, stunned. <em> Huh. </em> </p><p>A moment later, Bergara collects himself and follows Shane inside. </p><p>Shane beelines for a seat near the window, while Bergara shrugs and takes the seat opposite him. They shuffle their notes and laptops out of their bags, arranging them on the table. </p><p>When everything’s finally settled, Shane lightly says, “Okay. Real quick, before we start, I wanted to go over a few things. About our, y’know, team roles.” </p><p>From across the table, Bergara glances up at him dubiously over the rim of his laptop, then looks back down at his empty yellow legal pad. <em> Yeah, yeah, you’re the king of the mountain or whatever. I get it, </em> he thinks testily as he effortlessly spins his pencil between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it right over his thin white scar. </p><p>“Okay. What about them?” </p><p>“I know I’m technically the team leader and you’re support,” Shane says. “But when we’re working together, I want us to be on equal footing. So, y’know, if you ever have an idea you want to share, or if you have an opinion on something we’re working on, I’d love to hear it. No matter how small it is. Even if I’m doing something stupid.” Shane pretends to think about it for a second. “Scratch that, <em> especially </em> if I’m doing something stupid.” </p><p>Bergara looks up to stare at him, his eyes narrowing like they’re looking for signs of deception. <em> Is he bullshitting me right now? </em> </p><p>Shane carefully keeps his body language open and relaxed. As trustworthy and non-confrontational as he can possibly manage. </p><p>“So! With that out of the way. You’ve heard my ideas so far on the editing software improvements and the paid cloud system. Any thoughts? No idea is a bad idea.” Shane smiles his megawatt smile. </p><p>Bergara’s eyes flick over Shane’s face. </p><p><em> He… might be less of an asshole than I thought he’d be, </em> Bergara thinks. <em> Maybe this won’t be as brutal as I imagined. </em> </p><p>“I… might have an idea or two,” Bergara says slowly. </p><p>“Great! I’d love to hear them.” </p><p>“Well, um.” Bergara scratches at his nose a little bashfully. “This might seem a little overzealous, but.” </p><p>“Go on,” Shane encourages. “Like I said, there’s no bad ideas.” </p><p>Bergara hesitates, then squares his shoulders. <em> No bad ideas. Right. </em> “Okay, this might sound a little out of left field, but I think we should have Vern partner with Instagram.” </p><p>Shane waits a beat. </p><p>“A major brand partnership, huh?” Shane tries to look surprised. “That’s... surprising.” </p><p><em> He hates it, fuck, </em> Bergara thinks, his shoulders slumping down. <em> I should’ve known. He hates everything I do. </em> </p><p>Shane frowns. Neither of those things are true. He’s fine with the partnership idea, and is so far from hating Bergara and all that he does that it’s ridiculous. He would never have kicked off an epic, massive prank war with someone he wasn’t okay with obsessing over. </p><p>“Sorry, I don’t know much about Vern, besides their app and financial overview. What do they have that would get them in the door? Any shared motivations with Gramtown?” </p><p>A fleeting expression crosses Bergara’s face, there and gone. Shane’s not sure what it was. Maybe it was hope. “Yeah, actually. They’re all about making film industry tools accessible to help everyday people create professional-grade films on no budget, so the bulk of their products are centered around shooting on phone cameras. Outside of their camera and editing app, they’ve got adjustable phone-sized dolly and grip equipment, a portable battery that charges through USB or solar… They’ve even got a phone case with attachments for a multiple lens changer and manual focus puller.” </p><p>“Cool,” Shane remarks. </p><p>Bergara straightens up. “Yeah, and since Instagram is all about people posting quality pics and videos right from their phones, if they partner up, Vern will get a ton of new customers from Instagram’s pool, and Instagram will get a ton of higher quality uploads, bringing in more viewers. It’d be a win-win, as far as partnerships go.” </p><p>“Okay.” </p><p>“And - and get this, if they do manage to get this partnership, Vern is never gonna need to worry about its bottom line ever again. Everyone who wants to be a social media star is gonna want what they’re selling. Having that platform would catapult them into a major mainstay.” </p><p>Shane pretends to think about it. </p><p>“Sounds like we’d be remiss if we didn’t recommend it, then,” he says, which makes Bergara’s eyes go wide. </p><p><em> He… he agrees. </em> “You think so?” </p><p>“Yeah, of course.” Shane shrugs. “Why not? It’s a good call. So what were you thinking for the specific actionables?” </p><p><em> I did it. I got it on the project. </em> Bergara’s face lights up. <em> No eviscerating required. </em> </p><p>“Well, I was thinking we could present Vern with an overview of the average partnership process, and include the cost benefit analysis of having such a huge advertising platform in the long run. And, and! We could also show them an example ad from what that partnership might look like!” </p><p>Bergara is animatedly moving his hands, now, and his unsure voice from before has transformed into something loud and confident. </p><p>“I can see it now - we could open with that. ‘How would you like to have your brand seen by millions around the globe?’ And then show them an example graphic of a Vern ad on a fake Instagram feed that we can get drawn up by marketing. Then, once they agree, we can set up the introductory meeting with Instagram, and bam, we’re in business! Catapulting Vern into outer space, with us along for the ride!” </p><p>Even though the office ceiling is covered in bright fluorescent bulbs, Bergara’s lit up face is somehow brighter. His eyes shine, and his cheeks glow. Shane’s never seen Bergara look like this before; he can’t stop staring. </p><p>He’s known since his first day here that the man is handsome. But, wow. </p><p>Ryan Bergara is… something else. </p><p>As Shane continues to stare, a blush rises up on Ryan’s face. <em> Oh god, did I just embarrass myself in front of Madej? I came on a little strong there at the end, maybe he’s weirded out. Shit. I should try to be more professional. </em> </p><p>“So... What do you think?” </p><p>Shane thinks… he might not be so bored for these next couple months, after all. </p><p>He swallows, and tries to get his head back in the game with his office-approved megawatt smile. “I think it’s a great idea. Let’s go for it, baby!” </p><p><em> Did he just call me baby? </em> Ryan thinks, his reddened nose scrunching. He shakes it off. <em> Nah, I must’ve misheard. </em> “Awesome! Um, uh,” he stammers. <em> Don’t be unprofessional. Take it down a notch. </em> “I - I mean, great. Glad we agree. I’ll just… enter that into our shared notes.” </p><p>Then he hunches over his laptop, biting his lip and studiously not making eye contact. As he types, Shane can see the red tips of his ears burning. </p><p>Shane tilts his head. </p><p>He wants to see more of… whatever that was. </p><p>-</p><p>They start working on their project together in earnest, grabbing conference room time whenever they can. </p><p>Shane had already known before that Ryan was whipsmart and hardworking as hell, but all the time they start spending together on Vern really drives it home. He’s fucking amazing at communication, research, and writing out killer reports in record time. </p><p>He also, Shane finds, has a seriously irritating habit of trying to stay professional at all times. </p><p>Ever since Ryan had hunched over his laptop with red ears, he’s been nothing but the most proper and expressionless office worker possible. Shane’s been trying to recreate what happened that afternoon to see that strangely bright face again, but so far, zilch. Bergara’s been nothing but straight-faced and efficient, no matter what Shane’s tried. </p><p>Even his most tried-and-true tactic hadn’t worked - before one of their daily morning meetings, Shane had smiled his megawatt smile and said lightly, “Hey, before we get into it today, I’ve got something important to show you.” </p><p>Ryan had eyed him a little suspiciously over the top of his laptop, but said, “Uh. Okay…?” </p><p>“And that is…” Shane had paused for dramatic effect. “My cat. You haven’t seen him yet, right?” </p><p>Ryan had blinked. <em> He has a cat? </em> “Um. No, I haven’t seen your cat.” </p><p>“His name is Obi, and he is God’s greatest gift to this earth,” Shane said had seriously, bringing out his phone and opening up his pictures. “Take a look.” </p><p>He’d held out his phone, and after a moment, Ryan had taken it, thumbing through the pictures. </p><p><em> He is actually pretty cute, </em> Ryan had thought begrudgingly, as he’d swiped from one photo to the next. </p><p>Then Ryan’s thumb had frozen mid-swipe, his eyes widening the barest amount. He’d glanced up at Shane for a second, then he’d looked back down. </p><p>“Uh,” Ryan had said, stiff as he’d stared down at the screen. <em> He’s… um. He’s sure got a big dumb face. </em> </p><p>Shane had craned over Ryan’s shoulder to see what he was staring at. It was a selfie of a shirtless Shane making the stupidest face he possibly could while holding up Obi in the mirror. </p><p>“Oh!” Shane had let out an embarrassed laugh, scratching at his cheek. Whoops. He honestly hadn’t thought Bergara would swipe quite that far. “Um.” </p><p>With a start, Ryan had immediately swiped back over to the solo pictures of Obi, his stiff face burning with a blush. “Uh, sorry! I didn’t mean - ” </p><p>“No, no. It’s no big deal. I’m just sorry you had to see that. Just as we’ve started working together, too!” Shane had joked. “How are you ever going to respect me now?” </p><p>A reluctant smile had threatened to break out onto Ryan’s face, a hint of that same, siren-like brightness Shane had seen before shining through for one glorious second, before Ryan had ruthlessly squashed it back down. </p><p><em> Keep your cool, </em> Ryan had thought to himself, as his face had smoothed out back into that blank, professional mask that Shane could recognize all too well. It’s one he’s used a bunch of times, himself. <em> Don’t embarrass yourself again. Show him you’re a true professional. </em> </p><p>“I’ll manage. C’mon, let’s get started,” Ryan had said briskly, handing back Shane’s phone, and that had been that. Shane had shaken his head in astonishment, and then they were back to going over numbers. </p><p>In Shane’s wide-ranging experience, showing off pet pictures at the office is guaranteed to lower people’s guards and chill them out enough for some pretty genuine social interactions. It’s an ace up Shane’s sleeve, a sure shoo-in for getting people to relax that’s never failed him before. Nobody can resist the charm of cute cat pics. It’s a law of human nature. </p><p>But Ryan had slipped back into his professional mask in less than two seconds. </p><p>Yeah, it’s fair to say this whole thing has been getting Shane increasingly more and more frustrated. Nothing’s working like it’s supposed to. All Shane wants is to see Ryan’s face light up again like it had in that first meeting, but no matter what smooth, socially adept tactic Shane has thrown at Ryan to get him to let down his guard, it’s crashed and burned over Ryan’s apparently bulletproof stubbornness to keep it up. </p><p>So today, he’s trying something a little different. </p><p>“Hey, Bergara,” Shane says, rhythmically tapping his pencil on his notepad as they sit across from each other in the boardroom. </p><p><em> Quit tapping your pencil, </em> Ryan thinks sourly. “What.” </p><p>Shane taps it a little louder. “I was thinking about the marketing promo mockup.” </p><p><em> Ugh, that’s so annoying. I can’t focus when he’s doing that. </em> “Okay, what about it.” </p><p>“Maybe we could add in some flavor text about customization options. It might overload, but it also might be great for inspiring thoughts about product futures.” </p><p>Ryan watches the end of his pencil as it taps, taps, taps. <em> I’m gonna rip that pencil right out of his hands if he doesn’t fucking quit it. </em> Then he looks away. <em> No, no, no. Ignore it. It doesn’t matter. Be a professional. Focus. </em> </p><p>“Okay, I see what you’re saying. We could add some, but we would have to be careful to avoid seeming like we’re trying to push them into unwanted developments. Maybe we could do that by...” </p><p>Shane keeps tapping his pencil, a little louder now. </p><p>Ryan’s mouth tightens. </p><p>“By...” </p><p>Shane taps as loud as he can. </p><p>“Can you fucking <em> quit it </em> with that, I’m trying to think over here!” Ryan snaps, his eyes sparking with anger and red blooming on his cheeks. </p><p>Shane’s eyebrows shoot up as his pencil stops dead in his hand, and he tries not to look too gleeful. Finally, after days of trying, he’s gotten Ryan to make a real facial expression. That’s progress. </p><p>But then Ryan’s face goes white, all the blood draining from it. </p><p><em> Fuck, not again, I shouldn’t’ve - I can’t believe I - he’s gonna fucking </em> hate <em> me, we had such a good thing going here, I’m such a fucking impulsive piece of </em> shit, <em> why can’t I just </em> control <em> myself, I - </em> </p><p>“I wondered if you’d say anything,” Shane says with a light chuckle, willing the terrified look on Ryan’s face to disappear. </p><p>It doesn’t, not totally, but Ryan does relax a bit. </p><p><em> It… doesn’t look like he’s mad. </em> </p><p>Shane studies him, a little unsure of how to proceed without flatout giving himself away by saying something like, <em> I’m not mad. </em> “C’mon, Bergara, let’s have some fun, here, huh? We don’t have to be - polite, all the time. It’s just us two, here. You can cut loose a little bit. Banter with me. I love a good banter. Helps spice up the office culture around here.” </p><p>Ryan’s brow furrows. </p><p><em> So… it’s okay? He won’t care if I… If we… aren’t totally professional? </em> </p><p>Shane lets himself grin a little mischievously, instead of pasting on his bland office-grade megawatt smile like he normally does. “Here, let’s give it a try. Hey, Bergara, you bastard, what the fuck are you up to over there, with your little plots and graphs?” </p><p><em> Huh. That smile looked… different. From his other ones. Maybe he’s not a robot office drone. </em> Ryan blinks up at him, then glances around as if to make sure nobody else is around to hear him, even though they’re in a conference room alone. Then he leans in. </p><p>“Fuck you, Madej,” he basically whispers, his eyes wide and dancing. “Doing actual work on the project we’re assigned, is what I’m doing.” </p><p>He leans back and looks around again, but nobody’s there but Shane. </p><p><em> That was… fun. </em> He glances nervously up at Shane. <em> Was that really okay? </em> </p><p>Shane just chuckles. “Nice one, bud. Could use some practice, but solid effort for your first try. Six out of ten.” </p><p>Ryan giggles a little, like he can’t help it. His eyes glint with humor, and his cheeks glow with the hint of a blush as he breaks out in a smile. <em> He’s… funny. Dammit, he’s funny. </em> “Shut up, Madej.”  </p><p>Shane grins. “You got it, Bergara.” </p><p>After that, they go back to brainstorming. As they keep talking over different marketing strategies and visual connotations, something in Ryan seems to slowly unfold. </p><p>He seems… freer. Less guarded. </p><p>More fun. </p><p>All things considered, Shane really couldn’t have gotten better results than this. </p><p>-</p><p>Things shift, after that. </p><p>They work on the project together every day, and every day, Shane learns a little more about Ryan. They fall into a groove. A good pattern. A good banter. </p><p>Ryan’s thoughts start to feel different than they used to, in the mornings. Instead of being so tired and cranky and irritable, he’s more relaxed, more fun, more ready. And he usually starts off by looking for Shane. </p><p>Even his Shane-hate thoughts are different. </p><p>Things like, <em> God I hate him. Why’s he gotta be so funny. </em> Or, <em> He’s so fucking tall. That should be illegal, to be that tall. Girls must fall all over him. </em> And, <em> Man, fuck this guy. He’s just too damn clever. </em> </p><p>Whenever he hears one of those, Shane’s chest puffs up a little with pride. </p><p>It’s like he’s forcing Ryan to be charmed by him, even as he hates him. It’s great. </p><p>If it’s even possible, these days, Shane is even more excited about coming to work in the mornings than when he was during their prank war. This morning is no different - Shane is actually early to being early, and he’d hummed along to the radio the whole commute here. </p><p>He brews up a pot of coffee when he gets to the office, and pours two cups instead of one when he hears, <em> Ugh, I seriously hate having that dream, hopefully Madej can distract me with more of his bullshit, </em> coming from the elevators. Looks like Ryan’s here early, too. </p><p>“Morning, Bergara!” he chirps when Ryan walks up to his cubicle where Shane is waiting. “One cream, one sugar.” </p><p>Shane hands him a perfectly brewed cup of coffee. </p><p>“Oh!” Ryan says. “Thanks, Madej.” </p><p>Then his eyes narrow, and he studies the steaming cup and then Shane very carefully. “We do still have an agreement, you know.” </p><p>“I know, I know,” Shane says. “This is pure, unspoiled coffee. I swear on my cat’s life.” </p><p>“Well, if it’s your <em> cat’s </em> life,” Ryan says with a smirk. <em> He’s never given me a gift before. At least, not one without some horrible prank behind it. </em> </p><p>He takes a sip. <em> Huh. It’s perfect. Just the way I like it. </em> “Not bad, not bad.” </p><p>“I live to serve,” Shane jokes. “That’s why they call me Madej the Valet.” </p><p>Ryan rolls his eyes, but the glint of humor in them gives him away. “Uh huh.” </p><p>“No, they really do. Except when they call me Madej the Cafe. For my great coffee.” </p><p><em> Where does he come up with this stuff, I swear. Let’s see, what else rhymes with Madej, uh… </em> “They should call you Madej the Cliche. Because that’s what your jokes are. Cliche.” Ryan does a little finger gun with his free hand as he takes another sip of coffee. </p><p>Shane grabs his chest like he’s been shot. “Gah! Right in the cavity where my heart used to be!” </p><p>Ryan laughs, shaking his head. <em> This moron, I swear. How does he even make me laugh like this. </em> “Whatever, Madej. Conference room in twenty?” </p><p>Shane winks and does a two-fingered salute as he saunters away to refill his coffee thermos. “You got it, Bergara.” </p><p>-</p><p>A month and a half later, the two of them sit crowded together at Shane’s desk, holding their breaths as Shane presses send. </p><p>The email goes out. </p><p>Both of them release their breaths in a sigh. </p><p>“That’s it,” Ryan says heavily. “That’s the Vern account. All we have left to do is wait on their quarterly report.” </p><p>“They’re gonna do great.” Shane sits back in his chair, crossing his ankles. “I just know it. Instagram’s gonna beg Vern to take them on.” </p><p>“Sure they will.” <em> Oh god, they’re gonna hate it, </em> Ryan thinks. <em> Why did I ever think the partnership thing was a good idea? It was stupid. Madej could’ve done this whole thing without me, and better. </em> </p><p>Shane looks over at him, frowning. </p><p>“No, really, Bergara. We did good.” </p><p>Ryan bites his lip, and looks at Shane almost shyly, out of the corner of his eye. “You really think so?” </p><p>“I know so, Bergara. You were awesome.” He sticks out a hand. “And hey, thanks for working with me on this. I know it was a big ask.” </p><p>Ryan turns fully towards him, staring at his outstretched hand. Then he looks up, his face so unexpectedly bright that it could be mistaken for a goddamn Hollywood floodlight, and he grabs Shane’s hand, giving it a good shake. </p><p>Ryan’s smiling so hard his eyes are nearly shut when he says, “Thanks for asking.” </p><p>Now that’s almost unfair, that level of smile. It’s so bright, Shane can’t do anything but smile helplessly back. “Yeah, sure. Um. Any time.” </p><p>-</p><p>At the end of the quarter, when the news about the Vern account finally comes in, a celebration is in order, complete with champagne. There’s even a powerpoint slide projected up on the wall, with a graph proudly showing off all the numbers. </p><p>Their firm did just make an extra half a million dollars because of Ryan and Shane, after all. </p><p>Yeah, it’s kind of a big deal. </p><p>So the bullpen gathers in a conference room, everybody with a full glass of bubbly in hand, and there are shaking hands and patting backs all around. </p><p>Then Janelle comes up to the head of the table, and the room quiets as she raises her glass. </p><p>“Thanks for coming, everyone. Glad you could be here. We’re here today to celebrate the rousing success of the Vern account, led by Shane Madej and assisted by Ryan Bergara.” </p><p>The room breaks out in a smattering of clapping and cheers. </p><p>Janelle smiles. “Yes, they did fantastic work. They far surpassed the client’s goal with over two million downloads, and hit an amazing 31% markup. For a 1.7 million dollar consult to increase to over 2.3 million, and from results alone! It’s such a longshot that it’s practically a miracle. Shane, thank you for your initiative on this. Without it, we never would have had such lucrative gains.” </p><p>The room claps, and Shane raises his hand in thanks, but man, he really has to pipe up here. It’s absolutely unfair for Shane to get all the credit, when really, all of it came from Ryan originally. Shane just happened to overhear it. </p><p>“I appreciate it, Janelle. But I really have to say, none of this would be possible if Ryan Bergara hadn’t been on this project with me. Honestly. Without his support, and his excellent idea to recommend a partnership with Instagram, we never would have gotten this far. So - I just wanted to say, thank you, Bergara.” </p><p>He raises his glass to Ryan, whose eyes get almost as sparkly as his smile as he lifts his glass in return. </p><p><em> Oh, </em> Ryan thinks. <em> I like him. A lot. </em> </p><p>Shane pauses in lifting his glass to his lips. There wasn’t even a single hateful thought, in there. It was surprised, for sure, but not at all hateful. </p><p>Holy shit. </p><p>Ryan just straight up <em> likes </em> him. </p><p>The explosively euphoric feeling in Shane’s chest is much more violent than butterflies. </p><p>This is <em> way </em> better than Ryan hating him. </p><p>-</p><p>Shane drums his fingers on the breakroom table as he stares through the window, watching the rain cascade down the glass like a thousand shining streams. </p><p>He’s got a problem. </p><p>Now that the Vern account is closed, their ceasefire is over. The prank war is officially back on. And Shane loves pulling pranks, loves the thrills and the stakes of it all. </p><p>But Shane… </p><p>Shane <em> likes </em> it, when Ryan likes him. </p><p>And honestly, he’s not really sure how to keep that going. Hell, he doesn’t even really know how it happened in the first place, because the only thing Shane really knows how to be around Ryan other than a professional is… an asshole. A subtle asshole, yeah, but an asshole nonetheless. </p><p>But Shane knows one thing. If he does the same caliber of prank that he did before, Ryan is going to go right back to hating his guts. Maybe even more than he did before, from the sheer betrayal of it all. </p><p>Obviously, Shane can’t risk that. He’s already mentally trashed all the ideas he’d built up over the two prank-free months of their armistice. And he’d had a lot of them. But they were all too much, too mean. </p><p>He’s got to scale it back somehow. </p><p>The microwave dings, and Shane goes to pick up his reheated butternut squash soup. He blows on it, stirring in his metal spoon to help cool it down faster, frowning all the while. </p><p>Then something occurs to him. </p><p>All those pranks he’d been doing before had been specifically designed to piss Ryan off. Their entire purpose was to annoy, shock, or inconvenience, just so he could listen to Ryan mentally huff and puff about Shane for whole minutes at a time. </p><p>Maybe this time, instead of trying to piss Ryan off, all his pranks could try to make Ryan laugh. </p><p>Shane grins. </p><p>It’s a good place to start. </p><p>-</p><p>That’s how Shane finds himself pulling all his punches, doing the smallest scale pranks he’s ever done in his life. </p><p>He’s crafted tiny little paperclip men and set them up on Ryan’s desk in the middle of a fierce pushpin duel, and left an origami chicken with a line of origami eggs behind her sitting on Ryan’s chair. Sometimes he throws little paper airplanes with doodles on them over to Ryan’s cubicle, which has the added thrill of Ryan dodging to avoid them. Mostly, though, Shane’s taken to drawing out comics and jokes onto post-its and sticking them to things for Ryan to find. </p><p>The other day, he’d been working on a little comic of a smarmy professor, telling Ryan in a big speech bubble, ‘Can’t pass my class if you don’t cut the sass, Bergara!’ while he hits a cartoon Ryan on the head with a book. </p><p><em> What’s he working on now, </em> Ryan had thought as he stirred his coffee, leaning on the wall of Shane’s cubicle as he peered down. </p><p>Shane had covered it with a hand. “Hey, it’s not finished yet!” </p><p>Ryan had raised his hands in surrender with a chuckle. “Alright, alright, I’ll wait.” <em> Weirdo, </em> he’d thought fondly, before returning to his own desk. </p><p>So Shane has been pretty busy, all told. In his off time, all he’s been doing is plotting the next little thing to make Ryan laugh. And he’s succeeded every time so far, so he’s got a reputation to maintain. </p><p>Today, though, he’s struggling to hit the right note. </p><p>Shane taps his pencil on his desk. He’d thought he could do a little comic about Ryan’s big smile, so he’d drawn a cartoon Ryan with a smile so big it took up ninety percent of his face. Then he’d added the iconic Joker edges to it, and a speech bubble saying, ‘Why so serious?’ </p><p>But looking at it now… it just seems a little too mean. </p><p>Shane knows Ryan is super self-conscious, and this might not land with a real laugh. It’d probably be one of those forced ones, where in the back of his mind Ryan is really thinking, <em> Do I actually look like that when I smile? God, I must look so dumb, </em> and Shane doesn’t want that. </p><p>He crumples up the post-it and tosses it in the trash. Time for take two. </p><p>This time, Shane draws Ryan as a cartoon sun, his smile so bright and blinding that he’s making some tiny stickmen on the ground cover their eyes and bury their heads in the sand. </p><p>‘All hail our beaming overlord,’ he writes in as the tagline. </p><p>Much better than the last one. Ryan will like it. </p><p>Then Shane looks at the tiny stickmen again, and realizes that he’s drawn one of them with hearts for eyes, drooling as he stares up at the sun. </p><p>Then he realizes, wow. That little stickman with the hearteyes is... him. It’s got his tie and his glasses on. </p><p>Whoops. </p><p>This comic is too revealing - no way is he using it. Shane quickly scribbles over his drawing, throws the balled-up post-it in the trash, and goes back to square one. Something that’s got nothing to do with Ryan’s big dumb smile that makes Shane’s heart beat like crazy. </p><p>Fuck. </p><p>He’s got a huge crush on ol’ Ryan Bergara, doesn’t he. </p><p>He doesn’t just want Ryan to like him, he wants him to <em> like like </em> him. </p><p>How mortifying. </p><p>-</p><p>Like before, Ryan does try to get Shane back every once in awhile, though his energy is toned down to match Shane’s. </p><p>Unlike before, well… Shane lets him succeed. </p><p>He lets himself walk around the office for an hour with a sign taped to his back that says, ‘Will Work for Coffee.’ He lets himself follow a link in an official-looking email that leads to Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up. He even lets himself sit on a whoopie cushion, because Ryan loves fart jokes a little too much. </p><p>So today, when there’s another little prank set up just for him, Shane doesn’t hesitate. </p><p>He sees the thin white fishing line crossing the printroom door, and walks right into it. </p><p>“Whoops!” Shane says, as a cluster of yellow balloons float down to lightly brush at his head, bouncing off at the merest touch before continuing on their way towards the floor. Shane blinks down at them. He certainly wasn’t expecting that. He carefully catches one of the balloons with a finger before tapping it back up in the air, a small smile breaking out on his face as he watches it arc and spin. As pranks go, this one is… pretty cute. </p><p>Then a giggle bursts out from the inside corner of the printroom. </p><p>Shane turns and looks over with an eyebrow raised. </p><p>Ryan is hiding there, with a huge grin on his face, phone pointed right at Shane. </p><p>“Bergara,” Shane says sternly, or tries to, as Bergara skips up to him. It’s hard to sound stern when you’re fighting down a smile. </p><p>“I got you!” Ryan crows, turning his phone around and proudly showing Shane the clip he’d just taken of him getting ballooned. </p><p>He grins up at Shane with a face so bright, it practically hurts to look at. </p><p>“You did,” Shane says, unable to do anything but smile warmly down at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You really did.” </p><p>Yeah, Shane would let himself get pranked by Ryan a thousand times over, at this point. </p><p>Shane doesn’t have a problem with looking like a fool. And it makes Ryan laugh, so. Why not? </p><p>-</p><p>Yearly evaluations come up, and Shane doesn’t really pay much attention to it, but one morning, on a day when evals are looming, Ryan comes into the office, but it’s not right. </p><p><em> Ryan </em> isn’t right. </p><p>His thoughts aren’t… normal. </p><p>They’re swirling and disjointed and pointed, and buzzing with unbridled anxiety. Kind of like how they’d sometimes been when Shane had first started working here, but worse. </p><p><em> Fffuck, Jesus, I’m gonna - I’m gonna fucking, </em> Ryan thinks, and Shane pops his head up from his cubicle to nod at him with a grin. </p><p>“Hey, Bergara.” </p><p>“Madej,” Ryan says as he walks up to him, as casual as can be. His strangely disjointed, swirling thoughts calm down a little bit, though, just at seeing him. <em> Fff… okay. The regular scheduled morning greeting. </em> </p><p>“What’s on your docket today?” Shane asks, curious what the deal is here. He’d been planning on sticking a post-it under Ryan’s mouse, but it looks like that’s gonna have to wait until it’ll actually be appreciated. </p><p>The thoughts spike into pure panic. <em> Oh god. I’m gonna fucking FAIL! </em> </p><p>“Just my eval. You?” </p><p>Oh, he’s freaking out over his evaluation. Makes sense, because Ryan is a little ball of anxiety. But at the same time, it really doesn’t make sense. Because Ryan is smart and loyal and great at his job, and he shouldn’t be worried at all about whether or not he’ll be graded well when he literally just brought in over $2.3 million on his last account. </p><p>But this is Ryan, who for some reason thinks he’s worthless and stupid and a thousand other crazy things. </p><p>Shane is honestly pretty impressed by how much Ryan is hiding on his face, for the level of panic he’s feeling. </p><p>“Oh, I already had mine yesterday, so. Taken care of.” </p><p>“Nice.” <em> Fuck, he probably did great, </em> Ryan thinks. <em> He’s so smart and talks so smoothly. I wish I could be like that. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna bomb this. I know I am. With what happened, it’s practically assured. And these never go well for me, I’m such a fucking idiot. </em> </p><p>“Yeah.” Shane hesitates. He still doesn’t know the details of whatever it was that happened with that fucker Garth, the thing that Ryan still thinks about every so often, but. He… wants to help. “Hey, I could give you some tips, if you wanted. For the eval. If you wanted a refresher, or whatever.” </p><p>Ryan blinks up at him. “Really?” </p><p>“Sure. Evals don’t come around a lot, it’s good to practice a little beforehand, get the jitters out, you know.” </p><p><em> He’s so, </em> Ryan thinks desperately, before cutting his thoughts off abruptly. Shane… really wants to know how he’d finish that sentence. </p><p>“Yeah, I’d,” Ryan says, then sucks in a breath. “That’d be awesome.” </p><p>“Great.” Shane claps a hand on Ryan’s shoulder with a smile. “Here, pull up a chair, make yourself at home in Cubicle Madej. I’ll quiz ya.” </p><p>“Thanks, Shane,” Ryan says, his voice quiet and reverent, and Shane - </p><p>Shane’s never heard Ryan call him by his first name before. And he’s never said <em> anything </em> to him quite like that. </p><p>“Don’t mention it,” Shane says, a little strained, before shepherding him past the moment and into the impromptu study session. </p><p>God, he’s got it bad. </p><p>All he wants is to hear Ryan say his name again, just like that. </p><p>-</p><p>So, in addition to his usual small-scale pranks that make Ryan laugh, Shane starts adding little gifts to his routine just to make Ryan happy. </p><p>Hopefully happy enough to say Shane’s name again, in that same starry-eyed tone. </p><p>Shane’s left a special horchata-flavored lollipop Ryan had said he wanted to try sitting on top of his daily post-it note cartoon. He’s tacked up a cute Snoopy keychain to Ryan’s corkboard after Ryan broke his old Iron Man one, with a printed-off Peanuts comic stuck through the keyring. He’s even folded up coupons for that gross protein powder Ryan likes into little lotuses and scattered them across Ryan’s desk, because Ryan had complained how expensive it was. </p><p>So today, after Ryan thinks, <em> Ugh, I must’ve pulled a lat at the gym yesterday, </em> and rubs at his back with a wince, of <em> course </em> Shane goes to CVS over his lunch break and buys an IcyHot patch. </p><p>Of <em> course </em> he tucks the patch into an envelope that he’s covered with a Where’s Waldo-esque illustration populated by stick figures, leaving it on Ryan’s desk for him to find. </p><p>Of <em> course </em> he pretends like he’s busy working while keeping an eye on his convex mirror when Ryan ambles up to his cubicle and first sees the envelope. </p><p><em> Oh! What’s this? </em> Ryan thinks excitedly, glancing over at Shane furtively before staring back down at the envelope. <em> Where’s Waldo, huh? Love that game. </em> </p><p>There’s a crinkle of paper, and then a gasp. </p><p>At the sound, Shane turns to look, dropping the pretense of being busy with the curl of a self-satisfied smile on his face. </p><p><em> God, I could kiss him, </em> Ryan thinks fervently, as he holds up the IcyHot patch in wonder. </p><p><em> “Shane,” </em> he says in that singular reverent tone, looking at Shane like he’s some kind of miracle as he slowly, haltingly, steps closer to Shane’s cubicle. “How’d you know? This is exactly what I needed.” </p><p>“Oh, I, uh,” Shane says, flustered. Even though this is exactly the type of scenario he’s been hoping for, Ryan saying his name like that? Looking at him like that? It makes Shane’s palms sweat and his face heat. “You were rubbing your back this morning, looked like you were in some pain. So. I figured you could probably use this, had it lying around in my desk anyway, so.” </p><p><em> No he didn’t, </em> Ryan thinks with a little smile. <em> He totally went and bought this at the drugstore on his break, didn’t he. </em> “Okay, sure. Well, thanks for thinking of me, big guy. This is perfect.” </p><p>Ryan reaches out and affectionately squeezes at Shane’s shoulder with a big, sunny smile, so bright it practically blinds Shane’s poor eyes. </p><p>Then he heads towards the bathroom to put on his IcyHot patch, leaving Shane sitting there, dazed. </p><p>The shape of a handprint where Ryan had squeezed him <em> burns, </em> zinging with the sense memory of strong fingers pressing into his skin. </p><p>-</p><p>Ryan gets him back the very next day, with a pack of markers left on Shane’s desk with a little folded up note. </p><p>They’re brand new, packaging still shiny and glossy, and they’re a pretty nice brand, too. Ryan must’ve gotten these from an art supply store. </p><p>Shane unfolds the note, which was written on a piece of yellow legal paper. </p><p>It says, <em> You’re the best, big guy. Hope these make drawing your cartoons a little more fun. :))) </em> </p><p>The toothy smile that spreads on Shane’s face must make him look stupid, it’s so big. </p><p>-</p><p>About ten minutes later, when Ryan’s returned from brewing up another pot of coffee with a steaming mug in hand, Shane springs the question. </p><p>“Hey, Bergara,” Shane says, casually. “What time is your meeting? I was gonna ask you if you wanted to grab lunch later. I wanted to try that new Greek place.” </p><p><em> Lunch date! </em> Ryan thinks automatically, before forcefully correcting himself. <em> No, no, he just means as friends. Of course it’s not a date. Get it together, Bergara. We’re not like that. </em> </p><p>“It’s actually at eleven, so maybe we could go around one?” Ryan suggests. “Just to make sure, if it goes over time.” </p><p>“One’s good with me, baby,” Shane says, and winks, just to make Ryan relax and little and roll his eyes in practiced exasperation. </p><p>“Don’t call me baby,” Ryan says, like he always does now when Shane calls him that. </p><p>Then, something peculiar happens. Then, Ryan thinks a little ruefully, <em> Not if you don’t mean it. </em> </p><p>Oho. </p><p>Shane raises an eyebrow. <em> That’s </em> the problem now? </p><p>He’ll mean it, alright. A thousand percent. </p><p>“Okay, baby.” </p><p>Ryan groans and shake his head. “Shut up, Madej.” </p><p>“You got it, Bergara.” </p><p>-</p><p>They go on these lunch dates every work day now, and Shane feels himself getting more and more fucked over one Ryan Bergara. He calls him baby too many times, though it’s always under the cover of a joke. </p><p>He doesn’t know how, now, to break through and just be honest to Ryan, to show him how he really feels about him. He settles for pulling pigtails, continuing what he’s been doing, but more purposefully, this time. </p><p>He doesn’t know how to do anything else. </p><p>They’re out at Chipotle when the need to pigtail pull strikes again. </p><p>“Loving this guac, baby!” </p><p>“Don’t call me baby.” </p><p>“I wasn’t talking to you. This time, I was talking to the personification of Chipotle.” </p><p>Ryan sputters out a laugh. <em> He - this fucker. </em> </p><p>Shane takes another bite of his burrito. <em> “Jesus, </em> that’s good, though.” </p><p>“It really is.” Ryan sips at his water. “Y’know, I haven’t been to Chipotle in a while.” </p><p><em> Not since I went with Garth that time, actually. </em> </p><p>Shane twitches. It’s been awhile since he’s heard Ryan think about that fucker Garth. He’s not too keen on him making a full-on mental appearance, if he’s honest. Thinking too much about the guy always puts Ryan in a weird funk. “...Well, that’s a tragedy. Chipotle is, like, heaven on earth.” </p><p>“You’re right. We should come here again soon.” Ryan smiles at him over the rim of his cup. <em> Maybe after we hit In-N-Out again. </em> </p><p>“The Chipotle chaps, that’s us!” Shane crows. “We’ll be back, baby!” </p><p>“Don’t call me baby,” Ryan complains, grinning the whole time. “But I’m serious. Next week?” </p><p>“It would be my honor, baby,” Shane says solemnly, before Ryan kicks him under the table with a snort. </p><p>“Shut up, Madej.” </p><p>“You got it, Bergara.” </p><p>Ryan beams at him, thinking, <em> I like going places with you. Even though I can’t fucking take you anywhere. </em> </p><p>A warmth blooms in Shane’s chest, hearing that. He looks up at Ryan, who holds his gaze with the sweetest big brown eyes imaginable. </p><p>And just like that, Shane realizes - just joking and dancing around the subject? It’s not enough for him, anymore. He wants more. He wants them to be together. </p><p>He wants Ryan to know how he feels, for real. </p><p>-</p><p>He’s still at a loss for how to go about it, though. </p><p>Shane’s going over pros and cons of different methods of romantic confessions during his break at the watercooler, frantically scrolling through pages of search results for something that fits. </p><p>Ryan had stuck a post-it to his chest this morning with badly drawn versions of the two of them on it, labeled ‘Chipotle Chaps,’ and it’s spurred Shane on into even more of a frenzy to confess than he’d already been in. He clicks on every result he sees that has a list, and scans through them at an insane pace. </p><p>The problem is, all of the recommendations… they seem a little too… what’s the word. </p><p>Direct. </p><p>Shane’s never been the direct type, when it comes to this stuff. He’s always hiding how he feels, or what he knows, or what he really likes. Part of it’s his Midwest upbringing, but really, he’s just not… used to being so open. It freaks him out, the idea of leaving himself vulnerable when he doesn’t a hundred percent know how Ryan will react. </p><p>Shane’s gonna have to do <em> something, </em> though, and soon, or he’ll burst. He’s going to have to build himself up to it. </p><p>His alarm goes off. He sighs, and slides his phone back in his pocket. Time to get back. </p><p>He heads back to the bullpen, where he’d left a happy Ryan and a bunch of other happy coworkers. </p><p>Then Ryan bursts out of his cubicle, and fucking <em> runs </em> past Shane, down the hall and straight into the nearest empty conference room. </p><p>Shane turns and looks after him, gobsmacked. The look on his face had been… </p><p>It’d been horrible. </p><p>Shane rushes up to Jordan and Marco, Ryan’s cubicle buddies. “Hey, what happened to Bergara?” Shane asks urgently. “Why’d he run out of here?” </p><p>Marco sighs. “Real shame. The poor man’s hard drive got corrupted, he lost everything. IT just called, said they couldn’t look at it until next week.” </p><p>“A client needs a detailed update from him by tomorrow,” Jordan adds. </p><p>“Shit.” </p><p>Sounds like one of Ryan’s worst fears, come to life. </p><p>Shane follows after Ryan, straight to the room he’d seen him go into. </p><p>“Please be okay,” Shane mutters to himself. “Fuck.” </p><p>He tears open the door, and finds Ryan curled up against the wall, shaking, with his arms hugging his knees and stress tears pouring down his face. </p><p>Fuck. Shane can’t even hear any thoughts. </p><p>It’s like white noise, if white noise could scream. </p><p>Ryan isn’t just having a panic attack, he’s fully shut down. </p><p><em> Fuck. </em> </p><p>Shane hates this. He doesn’t know what to do. </p><p>“Bergara,” he tries. He inches into the conference room, closing the door behind him, and kneels in front of Ryan. “Hey.” </p><p>Ryan doesn’t respond. Shane doesn’t think he can. </p><p>He reaches out, his hands hovering just over Ryan’s curled up arms. </p><p>“Hey,” Shane repeats, softer this time. “Ryan. I’m going to touch you, okay, baby? Tell me if it’s not, and I’ll stop.” </p><p>Ryan doesn’t respond, but in his whited-out thoughts, there’s a faint echo of <em> Baby. </em> And then, a beat later, <em> He said my name. He called me Ryan. </em> </p><p>Shane brings his hands down to rub Ryan’s upper arms through his thin sleeves, up and down. He bites his lips, trying not to focus on how fucking jacked Ryan is, and more on how Ryan’s brain has checked out. </p><p>“Hey, Ryan. It’s all gonna turn out fine. C’mon, baby, just focus on me, okay? I’m right here. Can you do that for me, Ry? Can you look at me?” </p><p><em> Shane, </em> Ryan thinks, and as if in a daze, cranes his head up, eyes unfocused but trying to search him out. </p><p>“Good job, Ry, you’re doing great,” Shane says softly. “Can you breathe for me? We can do it together. Ready? In...” </p><p>They take a long breath in. </p><p>“...and out.” </p><p>They let a long breath out. </p><p>“There you go. In...” </p><p>They breathe. Over and over again, they breathe, Shane directing them the whole way. </p><p>“And out. Good. Just like your favorite drive-thru place.” </p><p>Ryan giggles breathlessly. <em> In-N-Out, </em> he thinks. His eyes sharpen, a little bit, and focus more clearly on Shane. </p><p>“Let’s go there, huh? Get ourselves some burgers and fries. Eat it in the car, just the way you like it, parked in the parking lot. Make you feel better.” </p><p><em> That sounds good, </em> Ryan thinks. <em> Can’t… move, though. Can’t… </em> </p><p>Hmm. Okay. Shane can roll with that. </p><p>“Or,” Shane says, as if it’s just occurring to him. “I could just go pick it up, bring some back for you. If you want. How does that sound, baby? Good?” </p><p>Ryan shuts his eyes for a moment, before nodding the tiniest little nod. </p><p>“Good.” </p><p>He releases his hold on Ryan’s impressive biceps, and rocks back on his heels to stand up. </p><p><em> I don’t want you to leave me, </em> Ryan thinks dejectedly, casting his gaze down onto the floor as his shoulders bunch up. <em> I want you - to - to stay. Don’t leave. God, I’m stupid. Why did I tell him to go, if I want him to stay? </em> </p><p>Shane hesitates. He doesn’t want to leave Ryan like this, either. His hands flex with the desire to reach out and touch Ryan again. </p><p>“You know,” he says carefully. “I could just get DoorDash. I’ve got an app on my phone.” </p><p>Ryan looks up at him hopefully. </p><p>That settles it. Shane’s spending a fortune on some In-N-Out delivery, right this second. </p><p>He flops down on the ground right beside Ryan, sitting up against the wall, and fiddles with his phone. “Which shake d’you want this time? Chocolate, strawberry, or vanilla?” </p><p>Ryan sighs, and leans against Shane’s side gratefully. “...I don’t know.” </p><p>Shane wraps his arm around Ryan’s shoulders, and chooses one of each, just in case. “Don’t worry about it, little guy. I’ll take care of it.” </p><p>Ryan’s head drops on Shane’s shoulder, then, and Shane hugs him to his side a little closer. </p><p>“Thanks,” Ryan mutters, almost too quiet to be heard. </p><p>“No problem, Ry.” </p><p>The sheer force of protective instinct that’s rising up in Shane right now… it kind of scares him, to be honest. He feels like he’d do just about anything, to keep Ryan from feeling any kind of bad again. </p><p>-</p><p>The food comes, and they decide to eat at the meeting table instead of on the floor, because they’re not getting any younger and their backs are already starting to complain. Shane had carefully shepherded Ryan over, his hand grazing at Ryan’s lower back, and his hand still tingles from the contact as he flexes it under the table. </p><p>Ryan’s happily sipping at his strawberry shake, after having destroyed the chocolate, and Shane is fine winding up with the vanilla. Whatever makes Ryan happy. Hell, he’d give the vanilla one to Ryan too, if he didn’t know Ryan would feel bad about it. </p><p>Shane raps on the table with his knuckles. “Okay, spill. What do you need?” </p><p>Ryan blinks up at him. “What?” </p><p>Shane waits, but apparently Ryan really is at a loss. He guesses that it’s understandable, after a complete break with reality, to forget what led you to the break in the first place. “You lost all your data. Report’s due tomorrow. So. What do you need? What can I do?” </p><p>Ryan takes a shaky breath. “Oh. Right.” <em> Fuck, I almost forgot. I’m so fucking stupid, I - </em> </p><p><em> “Ryan.” </em> Shane leans in, intense. “Tell me what you need. And I’ll get it for you.” </p><p>Ryan stares at him, unblinking. </p><p>“I...” He gulps. <em> He’s… he’s so... </em> </p><p>But again, the thought cuts off, and Ryan refocuses. </p><p>“I need… all the client’s financials in a data sheet dating back five years, cross-checked. Plus a balance sheet, with a projection mapping of future growth and a standard DuPont analysis. I think I can recreate the bulk of my report, if I have that stuff.” </p><p>Shane nods and leans back in his chair, sipping at his vanilla shake. “You got it.” </p><p>-</p><p>They work until ten at night, but they get it done. Shane crunches the numbers on his desktop, and Ryan synthesizes it all together on Shane’s borrowed personal laptop. </p><p>Their roles are almost the exact opposite of how they’d worked on the project from before, with Ryan as the team leader and Shane as the support, but oddly, it’s just as smooth a process. </p><p>When Ryan finally shoots off the email, they share the biggest, most epic high-five of all time. </p><p>“Hell yeah,” Shane says triumphantly, hand still stinging from the impact. “You did it, Ry. You’re amazing.” </p><p>Ryan blushes. <em> No, </em> you’re <em> amazing, </em>he thinks. </p><p><em> “We </em> did it,” Ryan insists. “As a team. So, <em> we’re </em> amazing.” </p><p>“Fuck yeah, baby!” Shane crows. </p><p>Ryan beams at him, still red in the face. He doesn’t tell Shane to stop calling him baby. </p><p>Shane revels in the unspoken victory. </p><p>-</p><p>Lately, the pranks have pretty much fallen by the wayside. They’re basically just trading cute notes and little gifts, now. </p><p>Shane gives Ryan a blue Pac-Man ghost stress ball, Ryan gives Shane a constellation map mouse pad. Shane gives Ryan a Jurassic Park notebook, Ryan gives Shane a set of Star Wars erasers. They go back and forth, pretty much weekly, quietly and aggressively gifting each other with the best small stuff they can think up. </p><p>Shane still hasn’t figured out what to do about confessing, even though he’s practically bursting with the need to tell Ryan how he feels. To be honest, he’s still a little scared of what could happen if he really puts himself out there, everything on the line, and Ryan doesn’t feel the same. It could sour what they have now. </p><p>He doesn’t want that to happen. So he waits, even though waiting hurts. </p><p>Shane’s just not ready to risk it, yet. </p><p>He’s too much of a coward; he wants to be sure. </p><p>-</p><p>Then, a few weeks later, it’s Shane’s birthday, so the office throws him a tiny surprise party. </p><p>Not that it’s really a surprise. They do this for everyone’s birthdays. But they like to coat it all in a shade of mystery anyway, and who is he to deny them that? Office culture needs a colorful burst of intrigue every now and then. </p><p>He doesn’t even need to read minds when Ying excitedly ushers him into one of the conference rooms for a ‘last-minute consult’ to know what’s going on. </p><p>“Surprise!” the office calls out, and shoots off some poppers. </p><p>Shane grins, as the bullpen starts singing him a very off-key happy birthday. They bring out a white lemon cake with sparkling pink lemonade, which is really sweet, because that’s actually a combo he really, really likes. He’s sure Ryan had a lot to do with that choice. </p><p>Shane blows out the candle, looking at Ryan. He doesn’t know what else to wish for, so he just wishes for him. There’s nothing else he wants. </p><p>They all get a piece of cake and chow down, chatting idly amongst themselves. Shane goes around to thank everybody, one by one. He saves Ryan for last, because, well. He likes saving the best for last, sue him. </p><p>“Did we getcha? Were you surprised?” Ryan’s already grinning at him. </p><p>“I am absolutely shocked, Ry,” Shane says drolly. “Never could have guessed. A total hit out of left field. I almost died of a heart attack, I was so shocked.” </p><p>“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan says fondly. “Oh, yeah! Hey, I’ve got something for you.” </p><p>Shane tilts his head as Ryan rummages in his pocket.  “Oh?” </p><p>“Yeah, hold on.” <em> Where is it, did I leave it in the… no, I’ve got it. </em> </p><p>He pulls out a small wrapped gift, with a badly tied ribbon barely keeping the paper on. </p><p>“Here.” Ryan holds it out to him. <em> I hope he likes it. </em> </p><p>Shane… isn’t actually surprised, very often, in his life. </p><p>He’s a pretty logical person, who thinks situations through for all potential outcomes, and he has the added ability to literally hear people’s thoughts. Shane’s pretty much the guy always holding all the cards. He plays along with not knowing things he shouldn’t know, and goes through his days being supremely unruffled by events he already knows are coming. </p><p>But Ryan… keeps surprising him. Even though he literally can <em> read Ryan’s thoughts, </em> he’s still surprised by him. </p><p>Shane… really loves that about him. The impulsivity, the intensity, the emotionality. It’s just who Ryan is - a constant surprise. </p><p>He takes the small gift out of Ryan’s hands, and gazes down on it with all the adoration he can fit through his eyeholes. </p><p>“Open it,” urges Ryan. “Go on.” <em> Come on, put me out of my misery already!! I need to know if you like it or not. </em> </p><p>Shane raises his eyebrows. Wow, he honestly can’t say he’s ever opened a wrapped gift without knowing what it was. Usually people spoil it by thinking it really loudly before he has the chance to unwrap it. This… this is a first for him. </p><p>His heart is beating awfully fast. </p><p>Shane sucks in a breath, and carefully unties the hastily done ribbon before peeling the paper back. </p><p>He blinks down at his gift. </p><p>“Huh.” </p><p>It’s… a tiny doll. Bright blue, with a tiny little pith hat and cargo outfit. It even has a little bag slung around its waist. Its big eyes have glasses clumsily attached to them, like Ryan couldn’t figure out how to do it without using a ridiculous amount of hot glue. </p><p>It’s one of Shane’s doodles, come to life. </p><p>The Professor. Ryan’s favorite of all Shane’s little cartoon characters. </p><p>Shane’s grin splits his face, so wide it hurts a little bit. </p><p>“Ryan,” he says. “Did you make this?” </p><p>“Yeah, I, uh, I’m not good at that kind of stuff, but...” Ryan shrugs a little self-consciously. “I tried my best. Bought a Barbie for the clothes, got the rest at Michael’s, threw it all together.” </p><p>Shane laughs softly. “Wow,” he says, unable to stop smiling as he glances up at Ryan. “This is - thanks, Ry.” </p><p>“You’re welcome.” Ryan smiles back at him, relieved. “Glad you like it.” </p><p>“I love it,” Shane corrects, and Ryan’s smile turns into a full-on beam. Almost too bright for Shane to look at, without sunglasses. “This is going in a place of honor, right next to my desktop monitor.” </p><p>“Good.” </p><p>They smile at each other, and Shane knows it’s time for him to make a move. </p><p>He might not be sure about how Ryan will react, but he’s at least sure about how <em> he </em> feels. </p><p>And, at this point, he’s bursting with too much affection <em> not </em> to. </p><p>-</p><p>When he gets back to his desk, he places The Professor right next to his computer monitor, like he’d promised. Every time he looks at it, as the day goes on, it makes him smile. </p><p>Yeah. It’s time. </p><p>-</p><p>So Shane does the most romantic thing he can think of, and makes Ryan a mix tape. </p><p>Well, it’s not really a mix tape. </p><p>It’s more like, a three hour ASMR recording of Shane murmuring over sleep sounds, because Ryan has complained a lot about his insomnia. </p><p>But yeah, in spirit, it’s a mix tape. </p><p>Shane sits in his car in the company parking lot, studying it in his hand. </p><p>He’d spent days on this thing, recording little bits into his phone as he laid in bed for inspiration, smoothly and lowly talking about the essential nature of dreams. Then he’d underlaid that with foleys of rainstorms and white noise and whatever else he could find. </p><p>After finishing the tracks, he’d burned them onto an MP3 CD and scribbled the title onto the face with permanent marker. Then he’d made an album cover and tracklist to fit into the case. </p><p>The album cover is an illustration of an orange cat and a black dog cuddling in front of a rainy window, colored in by the very markers Ryan had gifted Shane a few weeks ago. The title is written out in the empty space by the window, in tall, thin letters: <em> A Dream is a Wish My Heart Makes. </em> Looking at it, Shane thinks Ryan might like it. </p><p>He’ll especially like the Disney reference. Though he might get annoyed that Shane changed a word in there. </p><p>Shane opens the case and takes the disc out, slipping it into his car CD player for one last quick playthrough. </p><p>The sounds of winds and rain start billowing through the car stereo. </p><p>“Hi, Ryan, it’s Shane,” his voice says, low and soft. “Heard you had a problem getting to sleep from a pretty good source, so I made you this. I’m not, like, a seasoned recording professional or anything, so. Hope it’s okay.” There’s a pause, and the rains swell and fade. “Y’know, I was wondering about dreams the other day, and looked them up. It’s pretty interesting, actually. I don’t know if you know this, but the scientific community actually believes that dreams are...” </p><p>Shane skips forward, pressing the button until he’s somewhere around the hour and a half mark. </p><p>“...And I thought, huh. You know who I had a dream about recently? That’s right, it was you, the Bergmeister,” Shane’s voice says fondly, thunder rolling in the background. “Funny story, actually. I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget it. I dreamed I was at work, but nobody was there except you and me…” </p><p>Shane skips forward again, this time until he hits the two hour mark. </p><p>“...Most Disney songs about dreams, they’re all about being able to find happiness and love. Like, the dream was the starting point, the place to begin, and after having it, they could start reaching for what they really wanted in real life. They could take the next step towards what they really longed for, deep down.” Shane’s voice quiets a little. “Everybody has dreams like that. Usually it’s not so literal as, you have a dream one day, then you know what you want. I feel like it’s more like… Over time, you realize what you want more and more, and then you start to think about it all the time. So much, that you can’t help but dream about it. Like your brain is wired for it, now. That’s the way it is for me, anyway.” </p><p>There’s a pause, filled by the sound of a firelog crackling. </p><p>“For Cinderella, though, we only see her for the span of a few hours, so they definitely needed to use some kind of shorthand,” Shane’s voice says, a little more lightly. “I mean, it’s an excellent metaphor to use in a cinematic sense, if you think about it, because the way the setup of a film works, they’re pretty reliant on...” </p><p>Then Shane skips forward one last time, until he’s right near the very end, around the three hour mark. </p><p>There’s the soft hum of a whale song, the long, low note vibrating with an indescribable yearning. It begins to fade. </p><p>Then, Shane’s voice says, in the softest, tenderest voice, “I hope you’re asleep by now, Ry. I hope this helped a little. Good night, little guy. Sweet dreams. I’ll be thinking of you.” </p><p>The recording ends. </p><p>Before the CD can start playing again from the beginning, Shane hits pause. </p><p>Shane blows out a breath. Listening to it, even just tiny pieces of it, makes him feel raw. He knows he hadn’t actually said anything in it outright, but. The evidence is pretty damning, once you put all the pieces together. </p><p>If Ryan feels the same way Shane does, there’s no way he won’t understand him. </p><p>If he doesn’t… well. Maybe Shane will luck out, and Ryan will just think this is a totally normal audio recording gift, painstakingly crafted by his platonic best friend, that just happens to be full of deep philosophical thoughts and feelings about dreams for the future. And nothing will change. </p><p>Shane rubs his forehead. Yeah, fat chance of that happening. </p><p>God, Shane is terrified. </p><p>Because the content on this? It’s Shane, wearing his heart on his sleeve. Vulnerable. Being as direct as he can bear to be. And once Shane hands this over, there’s no taking it back. Of course he’s terrified. </p><p>It’s just that… telling Ryan how he feels, at this point, is somehow more important than Shane’s terror. </p><p>He presses the eject button with a sigh and pops the CD back into the case, closing it with a snap before tucking it into his briefcase. </p><p>Here goes nothing. </p><p>Shane grips the handle of his briefcase tightly, and gets out of the car. </p><p>-</p><p>When Ryan comes back from a meeting in the late afternoon, Shane’s already got everything set up and is sipping at a steaming cup of decaf coffee, casually leaning against the doorframe of the breakroom and looking out into the bullpen. </p><p>“How’d it go?” Shane asks. </p><p>“It went pretty well,” Ryan says with a shrug as he sits down at his desk. “This account just needs a lot of reassurance. Results are starting to come in, and they want help interpreting the numbers. Pretty simple.” </p><p>“Good to hear.” </p><p>“Yeah.” Ryan gives him a small smile, then turns towards his desk, where Shane had stuck a post-it note saying <em> Up (2009) </em> right on the screen of his computer monitor. </p><p><em> Up? </em> Ryan thinks, a little confused. <em> Like, the Pixar movie Up? </em> </p><p>Ryan glances over at him. </p><p>Shane winks. </p><p>Ryan raises an eyebrow with a half-smile, then peels the post-it off of the monitor and studies it intently. <em> Is he recommending I watch this tonight or something? Or is this a game? It’s probably a game, Shane loves games like this. </em> </p><p>Ryan glances over at him again, then back at the post-it. </p><p><em> This must be a clue, </em> Ryan thinks. <em> Up. Up… </em> </p><p>Shane watches as Ryan cranes his head up to look at the ceiling. </p><p><em> Aha! </em> Ryan thinks triumphantly, spotting the yellow post-it Shane had stuck to one of the ceiling tiles above Ryan’s desk. Ryan side-eyes him for a second. <em> How the hell did he even get that up there? Jesus. </em> </p><p>Shane hides a smirk by taking another sip of his coffee. In truth, he’d used a pair of brooms from the supply closet, but he’s not going to tell Ryan that. He likes to keep an air of mystery around his methods. </p><p><em> What’s this one say, hmm. </em> Ryan squints up at the ceiling. <em> About Time, 2013? Oh yeah, that one time-travel movie with the guy from the new Star Wars. Okay, second clue, about time. Time… </em> </p><p>Shane sees it on his face when the clue clicks in Ryan’s brain. His eyes light up as he swings his chair around to look at the clock on the wall, where another yellow post-it is hanging, right in the center where all the arms meet. </p><p>He whips his head over to look at Shane eagerly, thinking, <em> Yes! I got it! Did he see? </em> </p><p>Shane nods, the corners of his mouth drawing up indulgently. </p><p>Ryan grins, then returns to looking up at the clock. <em> Hmm. Groundhog Day, huh? That would be… </em> </p><p>All of a sudden, there’s a flurry of activity at Ryan’s desk as he rummages through the pages of his hanging corkboard calendar. </p><p><em> Ha! I knew it. Right on February 2nd, </em> Ryan thinks smugly. He studies the clue there, then frowns up at Shane. <em> Legally Blonde? What the. What could that even mean? </em> </p><p>Shane just blinks at him with a straight face, the total picture of innocence. </p><p>Ryan narrows his eyes at him. <em> Ramping up the difficulty, huh. Okay. I can roll with that. </em> He tilts his head to the side, looking back down at the clue. <em> Legal. Okay, so legal papers, maybe. Blonde, maybe something yellow? Yellow legal papers… Oh! </em> </p><p>As Shane watches, Ryan quickly slides open the desk drawer where he keeps a stack of his beloved yellow legal pads. </p><p><em> Gotcha, </em> Ryan thinks excitedly, grabbing the post-it that was left on top and holding it up proudly for Shane to see. </p><p>Shane just smiles, and raises his coffee cup in a toast. That one had been a bit of a stretch. He’s actually kind of impressed Ryan had gotten it so fast. But he shouldn’t be surprised; he already knows Ryan is smart as a whip. </p><p>Ryan beams at him, then reads the last clue with a spark in his eyes. </p><p><em> You’ve Got Mail, </em> Ryan thinks, pausing for the barest second before shooting out of his chair and practically running out the bullpen and down the hall, grinning wildly at Shane as he goes. Then he disappears into the print room, where the office mailboxes are. Just out of Shane’s twenty-foot range. </p><p>Shane tries to breathe. </p><p>This is it. No going back. </p><p>Shane waits a full minute for Ryan to come back out, basically frozen in place. He mechanically sips at his thermos, pretending like his heart isn’t suddenly beating faster. </p><p>Finally, Ryan steps out of the print room with the CD case in hand, thoughtfully tracing a finger over the album cover as he stands there. He’s got the tiniest frown on his face. </p><p>Fuck. He’s still not in range. Shane can’t read him. </p><p>Then Ryan looks up, eyes snapping right to Shane, and starts walking back down the hall, holding the mix tape up in the air like it’s loot. </p><p>“Found it,” Ryan says victoriously. </p><p>He crosses into range and comes up to Shane at the door of the breakroom, an enormous smile breaking out on his face. </p><p>“You did,” Shane agrees, eyes flicking over the CD case Ryan’s still holding up for him to see. “Nice job, that was pretty fast.” </p><p>Ryan’s enormous smile grows. “Thanks. What is it? Did you make this?” </p><p>Shane rubs at the back of his neck, smiling a little shyly. “Yeah, um. I did. It’s - it’s for before you go to bed. To help you sleep.” </p><p>Ryan blinks up at him, eyes wide and shining. </p><p><em> “Shane,” </em> he says reverently, in that rare, elusive tone that Shane is always, always hoping for. “Shane, this is - thank you.” </p><p>Shane feels his face heating up. His heart is beating even faster now. He’s always so <em> weak </em> to that tone. “No problem, I had fun making it. Hope it helps, at least a little bit.” </p><p>Ryan smiles at him like he’s ridiculous, then shakes his head and thinks, <em> He’s so… </em> But like it always does, the thought trails off. </p><p>“...Well, I’ll test it out tonight and tell you all about it tomorrow, how’s that.” </p><p>“You got it,” Shane says, trying for casual. He must mostly succeed, because Ryan just smiles one last time at him before heading back towards his cubicle. </p><p>Shane stands there, watching Ryan settle back into work, until Kim walks up with an empty coffee cup. Then Shane starts, shuffling out of the breakroom door to let her through with an apology on his lips. </p><p>Welp. The die’s been cast. It’s out of Shane’s hands, now. </p><p>-</p><p>At five on the dot, Ryan thinks, <em> Finally, time to go! Can’t wait, </em> and slings his messenger bag over his shoulder as he sidles up to Shane’s cubicle. There’s a fond look on his face as his eyes flick over Shane, who’s still typing away. </p><p>“Hey, big guy,” Ryan says. “I’m heading out first. Thanks again for the CD.” </p><p>Shane blinks, his fingers pausing over the keyboard. “Hey, my pleasure. See you tomorrow.” </p><p>“Yeah. See you then.” </p><p>That’s all Shane gets before Ryan heads towards the elevators with a bounce in his step. </p><p>Shane’s face falls. They’ve been heading down to the parking lot together at the end of the day for a few weeks now. It’s stupid, but he kind of feels like he’s been stood up. </p><p>Shane rubs at his face with a sigh. He’s been a chaotic mix of nervous, hopeful, and terrified the whole day, and now he’s got this added layer of relatively minor yet weirdly symbolic rejection to contend with, on top of it all. </p><p>It’s gonna be a long night, isn’t it. </p><p>-</p><p>Yeah, it’d been an <em> excruciatingly </em> long night. </p><p>Shane had stared up at the ceiling for hours, lying awake and ruminating over the possibilities of today. Wondering if he’d just made a horrible mistake or the best decision of his life, or maybe even something in between. </p><p>Shane blearily stares at the coffeemaker, idly picking at the deep, curved nick in the breakroom countertop like he always does now as he waits for the grounds to drip. </p><p>There’s about ten minutes left to go before Ryan usually arrives, and Shane really wants to have at least one cup of joe down his gullet before that happens. For fortification purposes. </p><p>Then, there’s a high-pitched ding of the elevator. </p><p>Shane’s entire body goes rigid. </p><p>Shit. Is Ryan ten minutes early? Fuck. </p><p>Maybe it’s not him. Maybe someone else came in early. </p><p>Shane shuts his eyes. Yeah, right. In this office, nobody else <em> ever </em> comes in this early. Just the two of them. </p><p>His finger stills in the counter’s jagged nick as footfalls on the floor draw closer. </p><p>“Morning, Shane.” </p><p>Shane turns his head, and there’s Ryan, standing just outside the door of the breakroom, his face inscrutable. </p><p>His eyes focus on Shane’s hand, still digging into the nick in the countertop, before they cast down to a small, muddy stain on the linoleum floor by Shane’s feet. </p><p>Shane holds his breath. </p><p>Then, Ryan lifts his eyes up to Shane’s face, and the guarded look on his face melts into something immeasurably fond. </p><p>Ryan takes a hesitant step forward, then another. Then he crosses over the doorjamb, walking right up to where Shane’s standing. </p><p>“Hi,” Ryan says softly, his bright eyes gazing up at Shane. </p><p>“H-hi,” Shane stutters. “Um. Good morning.” </p><p>“It really is,” Ryan says with a lazy, satisfied smile. “Hey, I listened to your CD.” </p><p>“O-oh yeah? How was it?” </p><p>Ryan’s smile shrinks to something smaller and sweeter. He slowly blinks, looking up at Shane through his eyelashes. “It was amazing. I fell asleep so quickly, listening to it. And I think I was out for over ten hours, which I’m pretty sure I haven’t done since college.” </p><p>“That’s - that’s good. I’m glad it helped.” Shane glances away, looking into the bubbling coffee. He’s… both relieved and disappointed. Looks like Ryan hadn’t listened all the way through. He probably has no clue that Shane basically confessed in it. Looks like Shane’s kind of back at square one, with that. He glances back at Ryan, who’s still smiling at him so sweetly and brightly. Like a warm, crackling fire in the hearth. “Glad it didn’t turn out to be complete crap. I’m not, like, a professional voice actor, or anything like that.” </p><p>“Shane, it was <em> good,” </em> Ryan says emphatically. “I downloaded it onto my phone so I can listen to it any time, any place. Really. You’re seriously <em> great </em> at sound editing and voice overs.” </p><p>Shane’s mouth works uselessly for a moment. “Oh! That’s… Thanks.” </p><p>“Yeah.” Then Ryan’s eyes dip to the floor and his cheeks go a slight pink. “Y’know, I actually dreamed about you last night.” </p><p>Shane’s eyes go wide, staring at him. </p><p>Ryan runs a hand through his hair, awkwardly mussing it a bit, before meeting Shane’s eyes again with a light chuckle. “Must’ve had my brain subconsciously programmed to do that by your recording, or something,” he jokes. </p><p>Shane forces out a matching chuckle. “Um, yeah. Must’ve.” </p><p>“Or maybe hearing your voice just made me think of you,” Ryan says offhandedly. </p><p>Shane’s heart <em> stops. </em> </p><p>“Could be,” Shane says a beat later, when his heart’s started up again. Ryan’s watching him, but it’s not at all different from how he usually watches him, and he’s not thinking anything in particular. </p><p>Yeah, Ryan didn’t finish the tape. He has no idea how Shane feels about him, no idea what Shane had said so tenderly at the very end. That was just - it was just some throwaway comment. It didn’t mean what it sounded like. It couldn’t have. </p><p>“Yeah, that’s probably what it was,” Shane says, averting his eyes towards the near-full coffeepot. “Responding to external stimuli. Dreams can be funny like that.” </p><p>“You would know, Doctor Dreamy,” Ryan teases. “Apparently, you’re an expert in the scientific field. Who knew.” </p><p>Shane chuckles again. It comes out much easier this time. “Yeah, I’m now a qualified sleep specialist, from the incredible education I received from one whole hour of Wikipedia scrolling.” </p><p>“You must be <em> drowning </em> in student debt,” Ryan says sympathetically. “I hear the price of medical school’s no joke.” </p><p>Shane’s eyes crinkle in a smile, just as the pot fills to capacity. “It’s not; I’m crushed by the weight of it. Gotta find me some patients, stat.” </p><p>“Well, you’ve got one in me, doc,” Ryan says, and he bumps Shane’s shoulder companionably with his own as he steps up to crowd around the coffeepot with him. “Say, got enough coffee brewed to make an extra cup for little old Ryan Bergara? Your first and best patient?” </p><p>Shane rolls his eyes, but can’t stop the corners of his lips from turning up. “I <em> guess,” </em> he says with a dramatic sigh, trying to sound put-upon as he grabs the coffeepot. </p><p>Ryan beams at him. “You’re the best, doc.” </p><p>Shane’s heart <em> swells, </em> just looking at him. </p><p>“Thanks, Ry,” Shane says through a sudden lump in his throat, before he clears his throat and intently pours two cups of coffee, one into his waiting thermos and one into a mug he grabs from the cabinet. </p><p>Yeah, he’s going to have to brainstorm a new way to confess. As soon as possible. The mixtape might’ve turned out to be a bust, but. He’ll do better next time. </p><p>-</p><p>Shane goes through the rest of the day terminally distracted, idly scanning through data sheets and analyses and not really seeing any of it. </p><p>All he can think about is his next confession. </p><p>What’s it gonna be like, how’s he gonna spring it, will it be clear enough and quick enough for Ryan to digest this time. He ponders and discards idea after idea, in the most intricate detail he can manage while still trying to appear productive. </p><p>Ryan certainly doesn’t help, as Shane catches him humming A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes a few times throughout the day. Even once during their lunch together, as Ryan happily destroys another street taco. </p><p>It just drives Shane to even greater heights of distracted desperation, resulting in the harried creation of a spreadsheet listing over fifty ideas on Shane’s phone during his second fifteen minute break. </p><p>None of them seem quite right to him. The mixtape, Shane thinks ruefully, really had been his best idea. </p><p>He can’t wait for the day to end, so he can stop wasting his time on emails and data, and instead focus on what’s really important. </p><p>-</p><p>Five o’clock finally rolls around, so Shane clocks out and starts gathering his stuff with a relieved sigh. Time to head home, where he can spend the rest of the evening completely focused on nothing but his next romantic overture and all its nuances. Knowing he’s not gonna need it tonight, he leaves his briefcase under his desk and pushes his chair in. </p><p>Ryan’s still in the zone, typing away. </p><p>“Hey, Ry, you finishing up?” </p><p>Ryan glances up at him. <em> Oh, shit. Must be past five already. </em> </p><p>“Yeah, I must’ve lost track of the time.” Ryan looks up at him imploringly. “Wait, like, five minutes? We can walk down to the parking lot together.” </p><p>Shane’s glad to hear it. He’d really missed walking down with Ryan yesterday, more than he’d ever admit. “Absolutely. Sounds great.” </p><p>“Cool. Sorry, just wanted to finish this paragraph.” </p><p>“Take your time, baby.” </p><p>Ryan smiles up at him for a long moment, then saves his file. “Never mind, I can finish it later.” </p><p>Shane shrugs. “It’s all the same to me.” He sits back on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms. “I can wait.” </p><p>“I can’t.” </p><p>Shane cocks his head, but Ryan is already going over his closing list in his head. <em> Logout, clock out, phone, keys, wallet, laptop, bag, jacket. </em> It’s too late to bring it back up by the time he’s standing in front of Shane, smiling and ready to go. </p><p>“C’mon, big guy.” </p><p>Shane shoves his hands in his pockets and ambles down the hallway towards the elevator next to a serene Ryan. Shane presses the call button. </p><p>Ryan’s… oddly quiet. Or, his thoughts are oddly quiet. They have been all day, in fact. His mind is usually much more wordy, overthinking literally anything and everything. </p><p>They take the elevator down to the first floor and walk through the lobby, still quiet. </p><p>When they step onto the black asphalt of the parking lot, though, he speaks up. </p><p>“Hey,” Ryan says a little nervously, fidgeting with his bag’s strap. <em> How do I do this. Gah, I don’t know, I’ll just go by the seat of my pants, here. </em> “Um.” </p><p>“What’s up, Ry-guy?” </p><p>Shane honestly has no idea what’s happening, here. Ryan’s surprising him yet again. </p><p>And again, he loves it. </p><p><em> Agh, fuck it, </em> Ryan thinks. </p><p>Ryan grabs Shane’s wrist and pulls him along behind him, as he quickly makes his way to the edge of the building. As soon as they turn the corner into the shaded edge of the courtyard, Ryan thinks, <em> Okay, nobody will see us here, I think we’re good. </em> </p><p>Then he looks up at Shane, and his eyes are serious. </p><p>Shane is caught on his every move, his every twitch, like he’s been hypnotized. Ryan isn’t operating on anything right now but instinct, but feeling, and in this short interim between actions, he’s holding Shane’s complete and undivided attention hostage, because no matter what he does, it’ll be a total surprise. Shane doesn’t think he’ll ever get over this amazing feeling, of being constantly surprised by Ryan and all that he is. It’s addicting. </p><p>“Shane,” Ryan says. </p><p>“Yeah?” </p><p>“I...” He hesitates. <em> What do I say? Shit. How do I words. </em> “You’re…” </p><p>“Hm?” </p><p>Ryan’s cheeks color. “C’mon. You know what I’m… You don’t have to be a mindreader, here.” </p><p>Shane barks out a laugh. He literally is an actual mindreader, and he has no idea what Ryan’s trying to say right now. “What?” </p><p>“You gotta know how I feel about you.” Ryan is blushing <em> hard, </em> now. He looks down to the side, instead of directly at Shane. <em> God, if I was misreading everything, this is gonna be so embarrassing. Maybe the CD thing didn’t mean anything to him. </em> “I… I like it when you call me baby.” </p><p>The breath whooshes out of Shane’s lungs in one fell swoop, like he’s been punched. </p><p>Ryan <em> did </em> understand what he’d been trying to say. </p><p>“You...” </p><p>“I like it when you annoy me with stupid doodles. I like it when you smile at me. I like it when you’re close. I like it when you… when you take care of me.” </p><p>Ryan’s grip on Shane’s wrist hasn’t loosened at all. His fingers are calloused and gentle. </p><p>“I think about you, all the time, and I dream about you, too. More than just last night. And I… I want...” Ryan looks up at him, then. His eyes are wide and vulnerable. Nervous. </p><p>“Ry,” Shane whispers, his heart so full it feels like it’s about to burst. </p><p>He leans in close, bringing Ryan’s hand on his wrist along for the ride as he sets a careful hand on Ryan’s cheek, cupping his jaw. </p><p>“Whatever you want, Ryan. Whatever you want, you got it. I’ll give it to you.” </p><p><em> Jesus, he’s so… He’s so damn… </em> Ryan takes a deep breath. </p><p>“What if I want a kiss?” </p><p>Immediately, Shane leans in and presses a firm kiss to Ryan’s full lips. “Then you get a kiss.” </p><p>Ryan’s breath catches, and the grip on Shane’s wrist clenches for a moment. “Another one. I want another one.” </p><p>Shane kisses him two more times, one after the other, nipping Ryan’s bottom lip with his teeth when he pulls back. </p><p>“More,” Ryan pleads. “Please, I want - ” </p><p>Before he can say another word, something in Shane snaps, and he’s got Ryan pressed against the office building wall, one hand still cupping his jaw, the other on his hip. </p><p>“You got it, Bergara,” Shane says lowly, and then he’s kissing him. </p><p>Deeply, with tongue, in a constant, sinuous slide. </p><p>Ryan moans under him, and his hand not on Shane’s wrist comes up to grab a fistful of Shane’s shirt. “Shane,” he gasps in between kisses. <em> “Shane...” </em> </p><p>“Ry,” Shane gasps back. <em> “God, </em> Ry, I...” </p><p>“Yeah,” Ryan whispers, and pulls him in for another hot kiss. </p><p>When they finally do break apart, they’re both panting and a little lightheaded. </p><p>“I want you in my bed,” Ryan says, hushed and fast, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t get it out now, he’ll lose his nerve. “I want you waking up with me tomorrow morning. I want you to eat breakfast with me.” </p><p><em> “Jesus, </em> Ryan,” Shane swears, squeezing his eyes shut and thunking their foreheads together. He is <em> so </em> hard right now. “You got it. Anything you want. You know that.” </p><p>“I want...” Ryan’s hand in Shane’s shirt loosens, then tightens. Like a nervous tic. <em> Is it too early to say this? Fuck it, he said anything. </em> “I… I want you to love me.” </p><p>Shane opens his eyes. </p><p>Ryan looks incredibly terrified, but also a little hopeful. </p><p>“Baby,” Shane says, and it comes out so tenderly it doesn’t even sound like his voice. He brushes a gentle thumb over Ryan’s cheek. “You already got that one.” </p><p>Ryan’s face contorts like he’s in pain. “God, Shane - you’re <em> so </em> - ” </p><p>He attacks Shane’s mouth with another hot kiss. </p><p><em> “So goddamn - ” </em> </p><p>He kisses him again. </p><p>“What am I,” Shane asks, dazed. <em> “So goddamn, </em> what?” </p><p><em> Perfect dreamy sexy charming captivating lovable frustrating adorable smart gorgeous sweet handsome PERFECT, </em> Ryan thinks in a rush, like he’s been thinking of it all too often. </p><p>“So goddamn <em> everything,” </em> he finally says with a sigh. “Jesus, you’re just so... Everything. You’re everything.” </p><p>“Fuck, Ryan,” Shane says, a little strained. “We gotta get moving, like, <em> now, </em> if I’m gonna make it to your bed without coming first.” </p><p>-</p><p>They somehow make it to Ryan’s apartment without Shane blowing early, which is a goddamn miracle in his opinion. Ryan keeps glancing over at him and <em> thinking </em> things, and Shane is only human. </p><p>“Stop looking at me like that,” Shane begs in the car. “I’m only human.” </p><p>Ryan laughs a little hysterically. “I can’t help it!” </p><p>“I know,” Shane sighs, and keeps his hands firmly at his sides, away from the bulge in his dress pants. </p><p>When they do finally stumble through Ryan’s bedroom door, Shane knows he’s not going to last through basically anything. He’s pretty much 80% of the way there. </p><p>“I’m really not gonna last,” he warns Ryan, tearing off the last of his clothes and tossing his glasses on the dresser.</p><p>“Me neither. <em> Fuck.” </em> Ryan scrambles up onto the bed, stark naked and wild-eyed, lube and condoms in his hand. “Get over here, already. The faster we come now, the faster we can come again later.” </p><p>“I <em> really </em> like the way you think,” Shane says fervently, more truthfully than Ryan knows, and hops up on the bed to join him. </p><p>-</p><p>Later, they’re lying in bed, beaded in sweat and so, so sated. </p><p><em> I knew it was gonna be good, but fuck, </em> Ryan thinks dazedly. <em> That was fucking </em> amazing. </p><p>“That was…” </p><p>“Amazing,” Shane agrees. “Looks like the office isn’t the only place we’re a good team, huh, Ry.” </p><p>Ryan laughs. “Looks like.” </p><p>He rolls over, half on top of Shane. </p><p>“Well, hello there,” Shane says. “What’s up?” </p><p>“Can I tell you something?” </p><p>“Anything you want,” Shane promises. </p><p>Ryan hums happily, laying kisses up the side of Shane’s jaw. “Mmm. Okay.” </p><p>“What is it?” </p><p>Ryan stops. “Oh, right.” <em> I almost forgot. God, he’s irresistible. </em> “Um. I wanted to tell you, this is all pretty amazing to me, because when you first started working at the office… I kind of hated you.” </p><p>Shane laughs. “I know. You weren’t that subtle about it.” </p><p>“You knew?” Ryan winces. “Oh, god. Sorry. Is that why you started pranking me? Because I was acting like a jerk?” </p><p>Shane shrugs. “I guess that was part of it. But I wanted to have some fun, too.” </p><p>Ryan rolls his eyes. “Of course you did.” He brushes his fingers over Shane’s chest, and the look on his face changes into something a little more solemn. “The reason I hated you - it wasn’t fair. It had nothing to do with you, or anything you did. I’m sorry.” </p><p>Shane shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. I wasn’t much better, with all the pigtail pulling I was doing. I was a total asshole to you, for literal months.” </p><p>Ryan snorts. “Yeah, yeah. But...” And his face goes pensive again. <em> I have to tell him. </em> “I want to… be upfront, with you.” </p><p>“Okay.” </p><p>Shane has a feeling he knows where this is going. He waits patiently as Ryan tries to sort out all the complicated feelings in his head. <em> Where do I even start? Agh, he probably doesn’t even know who I’m talking about. They never even met. Okay. Let’s start there. </em> </p><p>Ryan blows out a breath. “So, the guy who worked at the office before you… his name was Garth.” </p><p>“Oh, I’ve heard of him. Stole a bunch of money and got fired for it, right? Apparently he was a major asshole.” </p><p>Ryan wheezes. “Um. You’re not wrong. I’d even say that’s an understatement.” </p><p>“Strong words.” </p><p>“Mhm. Anyway. So Garth and I… we worked on a ton of accounts together. Almost every month, we’d get paired up.” </p><p>A thread of jealousy zings through Shane. Even he has only worked with Ryan on the one project so far. They’re bound to work on more with how well they’ve done together, but still. </p><p>“It turned out that on quite a few of those accounts, Garth had been recommending companies to invest in a few funds, along with everything else,” Ryan goes on. “Those funds, you’ve guessed it, were all shell companies he owned. So. He’d been embezzling.” </p><p>“Pretty bold,” Shane remarks. “Pretty stupid, too.” </p><p>“Yeah. Not as stupid as you’d think, though. He didn’t get caught for a long time. Not until I started going over the numbers one day, when a client had a question about one of the shell companies that Garth wasn’t around to answer.” </p><p>Shane blinks, propping himself up on his elbows. “Ryan Bergara!” he exclaims. “Did you catch a thief?” </p><p>Ryan grins sheepishly. “Sort of?” </p><p>“Wow,” Shane breathes, before leaning in for a kiss. And then another. And another. Ryan smiles and lets it happen. “I’ve fallen in love with a crimestopper. A detective. A James Bond.” </p><p>“Stop,” Ryan laughs, finally going a little red in the face and pushing him away. “That’s - that’s not the point of the story, here!” </p><p>“All right, all right,” Shane grumbles good-naturedly, swooping in for one last kiss before he backs off and lies back down. “I’ll save it for later. I’m listening.” </p><p>“Okay, good.” </p><p>Ryan cuddles up to him, lying his head down on Shane’s shoulder and smoothing a hand across Shane’s chest before speaking again. </p><p>Almost like he needs the comfort. </p><p>Well, if he needs it, of course Shane is gonna give it to him. Shane reaches up to cover Ryan’s hand on his chest with his own, loosely twining their fingers together. </p><p>It seems to help, leaking some of the tension from Ryan’s stiff shoulders. </p><p>“Garth...” Ryan hesitates. “He wasn’t great to work with. He was magnetic, and smart, and could talk anyone into anything, but. Even though I looked up to him, and thought the sun shined out of his ass, professionally speaking… well. He sort of treated me like garbage, most of the time.” </p><p>Shane’s jaw ticks. He’s glad Ryan can’t see his face right now, because he’s sure it’s at least slightly murderous. </p><p>His hand stays soft and gentle where it’s holding Ryan’s, though. </p><p>“He was always telling me to leave the thinking to him, to stick to what little I knew. To be loyal to him, because loyalty was everything, and it’d make me go far someday, because it was all I had. Stuff like that.” Ryan’s voice goes quiet. “Then, when I told him I knew about the funds, he…” </p><p>Shane cranes his head up to stare at the crown of Ryan’s head. </p><p>“What did he do?” Shane asks lowly. </p><p>“First, he tried to get me to go along with it, promising me a chunk of the profits.” Ryan laughs a little bitterly, shifting his head to catch Shane’s eyes. “That obviously didn’t work. Then he tried to convince me that the truth getting out would ruin me too, and that I should protect him if I wanted to keep my career. Which, again, didn’t work.” </p><p>Shane watches him carefully. “Then what happened?” </p><p>Ryan is silent. The hand in Shane’s is trembling, now. </p><p>Ryan swallows roughly, and looks away. </p><p>“Then… he attacked me.” </p><p>Ryan’s voice is thready and hoarse, all of a sudden. </p><p>“He… We were in the breakroom, talking. No one else was there yet, that morning, so we were alone. I said I was gonna tell on him, even if it got me fired. And… and then, Garth pulled out a knife.” </p><p>Shane can only stare. </p><p>“He… he said that a loser like me wasn’t going to be the end of him. And then he came at me.” </p><p>The hand holding Shane’s clenches tightly, as the look in Ryan’s eyes goes far away. </p><p>“I’d never been in a real fight before, but I’d played sports all my life. So when he lunged with the knife, I just reacted on instinct. Reached out with my hand to grab it.” </p><p>Ryan uncurls his tightened hand from Shane’s, and spreads it out to show him. </p><p>“See?” </p><p>The thin, white scar running between Ryan’s thumb and forefinger stands out sharply against his gorgeous brown skin. Shane stares at it, bug-eyed. </p><p>“Holy <em> shit. </em> Ryan, I had - I had no idea.” Shane grabs the hand Ryan’s holding out, and carefully brings it to his mouth to kiss the scar. “Jesus.” </p><p>“We wrestled over the knife until I wrenched it over to the side, where it got stuck in the countertop,” Ryan says, detached, like he’s recounting something he saw on the news. “Then, when the knife was out of the picture, I shoved him off me and decked him. Right in the face. He went down, hard.” </p><p>“Fuck yeah you did,” Shane says darkly. “That slimy fucker. He deserved worse.” </p><p>A ghost of a smile touches Ryan’s lips. “Maybe so. But that was all he got from me. I grabbed the knife, went straight to the hospital, and got seven stitches. Took the rest of the day off.” </p><p>Shane shakes his head. “Well, if there’s ever a day where it’s warranted.” </p><p>“Yeah, I know, right?” Ryan laughs humorlessly. “The next morning, I went in early and told Janelle everything. Well, except for the thing with the knife. I’ve never told anyone that before.” Ryan’s eyes flick up to Shane’s and then look away again. “I told the hospital I’d cut myself in the kitchen.” </p><p>Shane… doesn’t know what to say to that. <em> “Fuck, </em> Ryan.” </p><p>“Yeah.” Ryan heaves a sigh. “So, there’s an internal investigation, I get interviewed, and Garth is fired. One week later...” Ryan meets his eyes, with a rueful smile. “One week later, another tall, skinny white dude with charisma for days walks into the firm.” </p><p>Shane is <em> floored. </em> Fucking… floored. </p><p>“...No wonder you hated my guts. I reminded you of him.” </p><p>Ryan’s rueful smile grows into something a little sweeter, and he brings up his other hand Shane’s not holding to softly graze Shane’s cheek. “I was being stupid. It had nothing to do with you. Your faces don’t even look <em> remotely </em> alike. It was just - it was just so soon. And. And I’d been having dreams.” </p><p>“I’ll bet,” Shane offers. Some mindreader he is, not having a clue about any of this. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and brings up Ryan’s scarred hand to kiss it again. “Fuck.” </p><p>“Shane,” Ryan says softly. “I’m not telling you this to - to make you feel bad, or anything like that. It’s just that… I wanted to tell you, that I…” </p><p>Shane opens his eyes. </p><p>Ryan is biting his lip. <em> I don’t know how to say this, </em> he thinks. </p><p>“I hate the breakroom,” Ryan says frankly. “I hate it. I spend as little time in there as physically possible, to get my coffee or food or whatever, and then I’m out. I don’t even really like looking into it, because I’ll be reminded of what happened.” </p><p>Shane nods. It makes a lot of sense, given what Ryan went through. And now that Shane’s thinking back, he realizes that he’d never seen Ryan take a single break in there, and that Ryan had only talked to him from a distance whenever Shane was hanging out in the doorway. </p><p>After it’s been pointed out to him, Shane can’t believe he’d never realized it before. </p><p>“But today… Today, when I saw you in there, making coffee,” Ryan continues, his voice going quiet. “And after - after listening to your recording last night… I didn’t even <em> care </em> about all that fucked up stuff. Just… being with you. That’s what mattered. All that drive I had to avoid the breakroom, in that moment, it just… dissolved. Because <em> you </em> were in there. And wherever you are, I feel… safe.” </p><p>“Ryan,” Shane says, astonished, the fingers he has wrapped around Ryan’s hand tightening. “You…” </p><p>Ryan squeezes his hand back. “Not that you’re a fix for all my trauma, or anything,” he adds. “I’m definitely gonna start going to therapy. I don’t want to dump all my shit on you. But. You… you helped me to stop seeing shadows everywhere I went. To see that… that there was a future for me, after Garth. That I could be happy. That he wasn’t going to hang over me for the rest of my office life, like some - some ghost.” </p><p>Shane reaches out, cupping Ryan’s face, and brushes a careful thumb over his cheek. “Baby… I had no idea about any of this. You’re - I had <em> no idea </em> how much you were suffering. I had no idea how strong you were. I should’ve - I should’ve…” </p><p>“I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want <em> anyone </em> to know. I even tried to make myself forget it happened at all, not that <em> that </em> ever worked.” Ryan’s mouth quirks. “Shane, you… you <em> saved </em> me. Just by being you. So. What I wanted to tell you was… Thank you, I guess. Thank you for being you.” </p><p>The breath whooshes out of Shane’s lungs. </p><p><em> “Ry,” </em> Shane breathes, his thumb still caressing Ryan’s cheek. “Ry, I - ” </p><p>He presses a feather-light kiss to Ryan’s lips. </p><p>“I - I hate working in consulting,” Shane admits lowly. “I hate finances, I hate office culture, I hate all the boring shit we do all day. I’m only here for the paycheck. Everything else is… is something I just suffer through. I’m bored with it, all the time. I can’t even tell you how many firms I’ve worked at, only to quit a few quarters later when everything gets too stale.” </p><p>He kisses Ryan again, just as lightly. “But then this guy comes along, and he hates me. Loathes me, in fact, and it just so happens that he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” </p><p>Ryan makes a small, pleased sound. </p><p>“Yeah, don’t go getting a big head about it, Bergara,” Shane says fondly. “So, I decide I’m gonna try to have a little fun here, for awhile, and see what kinds of faces this handsome man can make.” </p><p>“You asshole,” Ryan says, flashing his teeth in an indulgent grin. “Of course that’s what you would do.” </p><p>“Yeah, yeah. And, sure, as the months go by, this guy makes a lot of great faces, that’s for certain. And that’s fun. But it turns out, once we start an account together, that this guy… when he talks about the work, about his ideas, about <em> possibilities, </em> his face lights up like the brightest star in the solar system. He’s excited to be there, to go over the issues, to problem-solve, because he genuinely wants to help the clients succeed. He <em> cares. </em> God, does he care. And… and somehow, along the way, well… I can’t help but start caring, too.” </p><p>Ryan stares at him, emotion filling his eyes. </p><p>“You saved me too, Ryan,” Shane says quietly. “Not from problems as serious as yours, but. You made my dull life light up. You made <em> me </em> light up. Just by… just by being you. So. I guess what I’m trying to say here, is… Thank you for being you, too.” </p><p><em> “Shane,” </em> Ryan says, in that rare, reverent tone that means Shane has done something really, really right. <em> God, my heart’s gonna overflow, </em> he thinks. </p><p>Ryan presses his forehead to Shane’s. </p><p>“I love you,” Ryan breathes. <em> I love you, I love you, I love you, </em> his thoughts echo. <em> I love, love, </em> love <em> you. </em> </p><p>“I love you too,” Shane breathes back, squeezing Ryan’s scarred hand at his chest. “So much.” </p><p>They sit there for a long minute, forehead to forehead with their eyes fluttered closed, content to just breathe each other in. </p><p>Then Shane pulls back, and plants a firm kiss on Ryan’s lips with a sunny grin. </p><p>“So, you ready for round two yet? Because I sure as goddamn hell am.” </p><p>Ryan wheezes out a laugh, his eyes as starry as the Milky Way. “I could be. Why don’t you kiss me again and find out?” </p><p>Shane rolls him over and kisses him until he moans for more. </p><p>-</p><p>The next day, they’re back to business as usual: fielding emails, scanning data, writing up reports. Not that Shane is paying all that much attention - he’s a little busy glancing over at Ryan every five seconds, waiting for any excuse to walk over and be close to him. </p><p>Shane barely catches Ryan at his desk yawning and rubbing his eyes, thinking, <em> Man, I’m tired, </em> before he’s immediately heading into the breakroom to make Ryan a fresh pot of coffee. </p><p>He hums to himself as he goes, shooting finger guns at Jordan and Ying, waving at Marco, winking at Kim. </p><p>This morning, Shane had woken up entangled in a sleepy, sated Ryan, the faint rays of sunrise peeking through the window blinds to bathe them in pinks and purples as they shared easy, unhurried kisses. He’d eaten breakfast at Ryan’s kitchen table, their knees pressed together as they laughed over eggs and toast, and he’d squeezed Ryan’s hand over the gearshift as they drove into work together, enthusiastically bickering over the music that was playing over the radio. </p><p>Yeah, it’s been a pretty awesome day so far. </p><p>Shane happily changes out the coffee filter, scoops the grounds, and pours in the water before flicking the switch, humming a nonsense little tune the whole time. </p><p>He reaches to pick at the curved nick in the countertop as he settles in to wait, like he always does, when Shane realizes what he’s doing. His hand stops midair, right over the nick, before he slowly draws it back. </p><p>He stares at the nick. It’s deep, a little jagged. Like a score in a wooden cutting board. </p><p>Ryan almost got stabbed, here. Scratch that, he <em> did </em> get stabbed. Seven whole stitches. </p><p>Jesus. </p><p>He could’ve <em> died. </em> </p><p>Shane might’ve never even met him. </p><p>Closing his eyes, Shane presses his palm flat to the countertop, right on the nick, and makes a promise to himself. Whenever he can, he’s going to try to make it so that Ryan never has to come into the breakroom again. He’ll run Ryan coffee before he realizes he needs it, he’ll grab Ryan’s snack from the fridge before he can go do it himself - anything, to make Ryan’s life a little less painful. </p><p>It’ll be a lot harder to pull off than the pranks had ever been, but that’s okay. It’s way more important than any of those misguided attempts at pigtail pulling ever were. </p><p>When the coffeemaker beeps, Shane sucks in a breath and draws up, lifting his hand from the counter to grab Ryan’s favorite mug from the overhead cabinet, the Paddington Bear one Shane had gifted him the other week. He fills it with coffee, milk, and sugar, just the way Ryan likes it, and sticks a post-it note on the front with a big heart scrawled on it in sharpie. </p><p>He sets the mug on Ryan’s desk, still steaming. </p><p>Ryan starts, tearing his focus away from his Excel spreadsheets to blink down at it, before looking up at Shane with warm eyes crinkling at the corners. </p><p>“Shane,” Ryan says, breaking into a smile so bright, he’s practically gone full supernova. “You read my mind.” </p><p>Shane chuckles. “Sure did. Lots of great ideas floating around in there.” </p><p>He taps at Ryan’s forehead, just to make Ryan giggle and scrunch up his nose as he gently bats his hand away. <em> This idiot, </em> Ryan thinks fondly, smiling sweetly up at him. <em> I love him so much. </em> </p><p>Shane goofily smiles back. </p><p>He has the most wonderful feeling that he’s never going to be bored in the office again. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading my incredibly self-indulgent nonsense!! And again, thank you to everybody that helped me! I had so much fun writing this, even when it was incredibly difficult, and I feel like I learned a lot. </p><p>-</p><p>Trigger Warnings: Major onscreen panic attack. Implied past gaslighting and mental abuse (not between Ryan and Shane). Vague description of a past violent altercation (not between Ryan and Shane). </p><p>-</p><p>PS: Everybody go look up the <a href="https://discord.gg/G3EfhGUZ9h">Shyan Shipping Society</a> on Discord!! They're great.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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